THE  BEST  AND  CHEAPEST  SCHOOL  BOOKS. 


•'  THE  ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES 

EMBRACES 

McGuffey's  Primary  School  Charts, 6  No's. 

McGuffey's  New  Eclectic  Speller, 1  BOOK. 

McGuffey's  New  Eclectic  Readers, 7  BOOKS. 

McGuffey's  New  Eclectic  Speakers, 2  BOOKS. 

Ray's  Series  of  Arithmetics, 6  BOOKS. 

Ray's  Series  of  Algebras, 2  BOOKS. 

Ray's  Plane  and  Solid  Geometry, 1  BOOK. 

Pinneo's  Series  of  Grammars, 3  BOOKS. 

Pinneo's  Guide  to  Composition, 1  BOOK. 

Popularity. — These  School  Books  possess  the  highest  merit, 
are  more  widely  introduced  than  any  other  series  published,  and 
have  received  the  cordial  indorsement  of  the  most  intelligent  and 
successful  teachers  throughout  the  Union. 

Approved  and  adopted  in  many  Schools  in  the  New  England  States ; 

I  in  the  New  York  City  Public  Schools;  extensively  used  in  the  Public 

,  Schools  of  Pennsylvania ;  and,  almost  exclusively  in  the  Schools  of 

Ohio,  Indiana,  and  other  States  of  the  West  and  North-West;  and 

largely  in  nearly  every  other  State  where  liberal  attention  is  given  to 

(public  instruction. 
Economy  to  Parents. — They  combine  the  rare  advantages  of 
superior  intrinsic  merit,  typographical  beauty,  cheapness,  and  exten- 
sive uniformity  of  adoption  and  use. 

They  have  been  recommended  by  State  Superintendents  of  Public 

Instruction    of   Ohio,   Indiana,  Illinois,  Iowa,    Wisconsin,   Minnesota, 

.   Missouri,  Kansas,  and  Kentucky ;  by  the  State  Beards  of  Education 

*{  of  nearly  every  State  having  a  central  Educational  Board;  and  by 

thousands  of  Superintendents,  Teachers,  and  School  Officers  in  all 

f"   sections  of  the  Union. 


THE  ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES. 

OHIO. 

From  HON.  ANSON  SMYTH,  late  Slate  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  OAia   n 

MCGUFFEY'S  Old  ECLECTIC  READERS  I  esteemed  as  among  the  very 
best  works  of  the  kind;  but  the  New  are  certainly  a  decided  improve- 
ment upon  the  Old.  I  know  of  no  others  which  I  could  more  earnestly 
and  honestly  indorse. 

I  have  examined  with  care  the  new  editions  of  Ray's  Arithmetics, 
and  am  greatly  pleased  with  them.  The  PRIMARY  is  certainly  a  very 
decided  improvement:  I  have  seen  none  so  well  adapted  for  a  text-book 
in  the  elements  of  Mental  Arithmetic.  The  INTELLECTUAL  is  an  admir- 
able work.  The  importance  of  Mental  Arithmetic  is  ..\ow  generally  ap- 
preciated; and  I  know  of  no  work  that  embodies  so  systematic,  com- 
plete, and  thorough  a  course  in  this  useful  branch  of  study.  RAT'S 
PRACTICAL  ARITHMETIC  needs  no  praise.  It  is  its  own  commendation. 

PINNEO'S  SERIES  OF  GRAMMARS  I  esteem  as  among  the  best  text-books 
extant,  for  guiding  the  learner  to  a  knowledge  of  the  correct  use  of  our 
language.  The  definitions  are  clear  and  exact;  the  rules  are  simple 
and  comprehensive;  and  the  whole  plan  and  arrangement  well  adapted 
to  achieve  their  purpose. 

INDIANA. 

From  HON.  M.  J.  FLETCHEB,  former  State  Supt.  Public  Instruction,  Ind. 

The  public  sentiment,  as  expressed  in  Indiana  by  tne  almost  univer- 
sal use  of  the  ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES  OF  SCHOOL  BOOKS,  embrac- 
ing McGuffey's  New  Series  of  Readers  and  Speller,  Ray's  Series  of 
Arithmetics  and  Algebras,  and  Pinneo's  Series  of  Grammars,  was  suf- 
ficient in  itself  to  induce  the  State  Board  of  Education  to  adopt  them. 

In  addition  to  this,  by  careful  examination,  I  am  well  satisfied  that 
their  true  intrinsic  and  relative  merit  entitles  them  to  such  recommenda- 
tion. They  are  printed  on  good,  firm,  substantial  white  paper,  are  dur- 
ably bound,  and  of  unrivaled  cheapness. 


ILLINOIS. 

From  HON.  N.  BATEMAN,  State  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  Illinois. 

No  series  of  books  has  ever  obtained  as  many  voices  of  approval  from 
teachers  as  MCGUFFEY'S  ECLECTIC  READERS.  Certainly  no  other  Scries 
has  been  so  popular  throughout  the  West.  We  unhesitatingly  say  that 
wf  know  of  no  better  books,  and  should  not  take  the  trouble  to  look  for  any. 
The  printing  is  beautiful,  the  paper  very  fine,  and  tho  binding  good: 
and  MoGuffey's  Readers  are  proverbially  cheap. 


THE  ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES. 

RAT'S  ARITHMETICS  have  deservedly  shared  in  the  popularity  of  the 
Eclectic  Series.  The  HIGHER  ARITHMETIC  is  better  than  any  other  that 
we  know  to  be  used  in  this  country.  RAT'S  ALGEBRAS  are  clear,  full, 
and  comprehensive.  We  advise  all  who  wish  to  arrange  a  course  of 
studies,  including  Algebra,  to  examine  these  before  choosing. 


MINNESOTA. 

From  HON.  B.  F.  CRARY,/ormer  State  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  Minn, 

I  have  examined  McGuFFET's  NEW  ECLECTIC  READERS,  and  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  they  are  superior  to  any  similar  text-books  that 
have  come  under  my  observation.  The  standard  of  morals  and  taste  in 
the  Readers  is  very  high,  and  in  their  Low  PRICE,  and  beautiful  printing 
and  binding,  they  distance  all  competition.  I  rejoice  that  a  Western 
House  has  been  able  to  meet  the  increasing  wants  of  the  West  in  this 
great  field. 

IOWA. 

From  HON.  OBAN  FAVILLE,  State  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  Iowa. 

Having  recently  reexamined  the  ECLECTIC  SERIES  OF  SCHOOL  BOOKS, 
I  am  fully  confirmed  in  the  opinion  that  they  are  the  best  Series,  on  the 
whole,  now  in  use  in  the  West.  Their  remarkable  popularity,  and  the 
continued  attachment  manifested  for  them  by  practical  Educators,  give 
evidence  both  of  their  intrinsic  worth,  and  of  their  adaptation  to  the 
place  designed  for  them. 

Without  specifying  further,  I  will  say  that  MCGUFFET'S  NEW  ECLECTIC 
SERIES  OF  READERS,  SPELLER,  and  PRIMART  SCHOOL  CHARTS,  PINNEO'S 
SERIES  OF  GRAMMARS,  and  RAT'S  SERIES  OF  ARITHMETICS  and  ALGEBRAS, 
are  unsurpassed  by  any  similar  Series  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  I 
therefore  recommend  their  continued  use  in  our  State. 


MISSOURI. 

From  HON.  W.  B.  STARKE,/ormer  State  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  Mo. 
I  have  taken  much  pains  to  ascertain  what  are  the  most  approved 
text-books  throughout  the  country,  and  after  free  consultation  with  lead- 
ing teachers  from  different  sections  of  the  State,  and  with  their  hearty 
sanction  of  this  course,  I  recommend  the  following  list  of  books  to  be 
used  in  the  Common  Schools  of  Missouri  :  MCGUFFET'S  NEW  SERIES  OF 
READERS,  SPEAKERS,  and  SPELLER,  PINNEO'S  SERIES  OF  GRAMMARS,  and 
RAy's  SERIES  OF  ARITHMETICS  and  ALGEBRAS. 


THE  ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES. 

WISCONSIN. 

From  HON.  J.  L.  PICKARD,  State  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  Wis. 
The  books  I  have  recommended  below,  [McGuFFEY's  NEW  READERS, 
RA*'S  ARITHMETICS,  PINNEO'S  GRAMMAR,  and  WHITE'S  CLASS-BOOK  o» 
GEOGRAPHY,]  are  such  as  commend  themselves  to  my  judgment.  I  wpuld 
advise  their  adoption  in  •  all  schools  where  no  uniformity  at  present 
exists. 

KANSAS. 

From  HON.  WM.  R.  GRIFFITH,  State  Supt.  of  Public  Instruction,  Kan. 

I  recommend  McGuFFEY's  NEW  EC*  ECTIC  SERIES  OF  READERS,  SPEAKERS, 
and  SPELLER,  and  RAY'S  SERIES  OF  ARITHMETICS  and  ALGEBRAS  to  the 
favorable  consideration  of  the  Teachers  of  our  Public  Schools.  These 
works  possess  real  merit,  and  I  trust  they  will  be  approved  by  the  citi- 
zens of  the  State  generally.  I  have  spent  a  week  in  examining  McGuf- 
fey's  Series,  and  I  most  heartily  commend  them. 

I  have  also,  after  careful  examination,  concluded  to  recommend  PIN- 
NEO'S SERIES  OF  GRAMMARS.  I  have  endeavored  to  examine  the  most 
popular  works  on  the  subject  of  Grammar,  as  a  teacher  rather  than  as  a 
critic,  and,  in  so  doing,  have  been  compelled  to  give  my  preference  to 
Pinneo's.  The  early  introduction  of  analysis,  and  the  abundant  black- 
board exercises  provided,  make  Pinneo's  Grammars  very  practical  ivorks. 


VALUABLE  TESTIMONY. 

From    Rev.    BISHOP    CLARE,    D.   D,,  formerly  Editor  of  the  Ladies' 
Repository. 

I  have  had  frequent  occasion,  during  the  past  few  years,  to  examine 
and  reexamine  the  ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES.  Taken  a§  a  whole, 
they  are  unquestionably  the  best  issued  by  any  house  in  America.  The 
popularity  enjoyed  by  the  ECLECTIC  SERIES  rests  upon  the  substantial 
basis  of  merit. 

From  I.  W.  ANDREWS,  D.  D.,  President  of  Marietta  College. 

I  have  examined  carefully  McGuFFEY's  ECLECTIC  READERS,  and  am 
prepared  to  speak  of  them  in  terms  of  unqualified  commendation.  They 
appear  to  me  to  combine  more  excellences  than  any  other  readers  with 
which  I  am  acquainted. 

The  favorable  opinion  I  had  formed  of  them  from  examination  has 
been  confirmed  by  the  use  of  them  in  my  own  family.  I  was  really 
charmed  with  them,  and  so  were  my  children.  I  do  not  believe  better 
books  for  this  purpose  were  ever  prepared :  /  have,  never  seen  any  as  good. 


ECLECTIC     EDUCATIONAL     SERIES. 


MCGUFFEY'S 


NEW 


ECLECTIC   SPEAKEE, 


CONTAINING  ABOUT 


THREE   HUNDRED  EXERCISES 


FOR 


READING    AND    DECLAMATION. 


ELECTROTYPE  EDITION. 


CINCINNATI: 
WILSON,    HINKLE    &    CO 

PHIL'A:  CLAXTON,  REMSEN  &  HAFFELFINGER. 
NEW  YORK:  CLARK  &  MAYNARD. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  Eighteen  Hun- 
dred and  Fifty-Eight,  by  WINTHROP  B.  SMITH,  in  the  Clerk's  office 
of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District 
of  Ohio. 


lessons  in  this  volume  are  copyright  property,  and  their 
use  by  others  not  permitted.     See  paragraph  7  of  preface. 


Electrotyped  at  the  Franklin  Type  Foundry. 
Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


PREFACE. 

THE  EXERCISES  in  this  volume  are  from  a  great  variety  of  the  very 
best  sources  of  American  and  English  literature.  They  have  be.en  se- 
lected with  reference  to  purity  of  sentiment,  beauty  of  style,  real  elo- 
quence, interest  and  instructiveness  of  matter,  and,  especially,  their 
adaptation  to  instruction  in  declamation  and  reading. 

The  peculiarities  of  this  work  are  the  following. 

1.  Every  exercise  may  be  appropriately  used  both  for  reading  and 
speaking. 

2.  The  exercises  are  very  short.     A  great  fault  of  most  books  of  this 
kind  is,  that  the  extracts  are  too  long  for  declamation,  and  the  judg- 
ment and  patience  of  the  teacher  much  taxed  in  modifying  them. 

3.  Many  of  the  speeches  and  dialogues  are  so  prepared,  and  arranged 
in  a  connected  series,  that  either  one  of  them  may'  be  spoken  alone,  or 
any  number  of  them  in  connection,  thus  leaving  it  at  the  option  of  the 
teacher  to  make  the  exercise  long  or  short. 

4.  Prefixed  to  all  the  exercises  which  need  it,  is  such  explanation 
of  the  matter,  or  of  the  circumstances  connected  with  the  subject,  or 
such  information  with  regard  to  the  author,  as  will  render  the  extract 
intelligible  and  interesting.      Learners  are  too  often  required  to  de- 
claim what  they  do  not  understand. 

5.  The   Elementary  Principles  of  reading  and  speaking  are  very 
fully  explained  and  illustrated.     The  directions  and  exercises,  espe- 
cially on  the  management  and  culture  of  the  voice,  and  the  remarks 
on  gesture,  all  of  which  are  particularly  important  to  the  speaker, 
have  been  prepared  with  great  care,  and  are  in  accordance  with  the 
best  American  and  English  authors. 

6.  A  highly  elevated  tone  of  religious  and  moral  sentiment  has  been 
carefully  secured  throughout.     This  is  esteemed  especially  important, 

7 


8  PREFACE. 

although  many  popular  school  books  contain  matter  very  objection- 
able in  this  respect. 

7.  Great  liberty  has  been  taken  with  the  exercises  introduced  into  , 
this  book.  This  was  found  necessary,  in  order  to  adapt  them  to  the 
purpose  for  which  they  are  here  designed.  Many  articles  have  been 
entirely  remodeled,  and,  to  a  considerable  extent,  rewritten.  This 
has  required  much  labor  and  thought,  and  renders  them  properly  copy 
right  property.  For  this  reason,  the  credits  are  expressed  as  "from" 
the  author  named. 


CONTENT 


The  Exercises  in  Poetry  are  marked  thus.  (*) 

EXERCISE.  PAGE. 

Elementary  Principles 15 

1.  Advance  * 45 

2.  Eloquence,  Nos.  I,  II ' 46 

4.  Denunciation  of  Catiline From  Cicero.       .  48 

5.  Catiline's  Defiance* From  Oroly.       .  50 

6.  Expulsion  of  Catiline From  Cicero.       .  51 

7.  Power  of  a  Free  People From  Everett.     .  52 

8.  True  Honor  of  a  Nation 53 

9.  Vision  of  Liberty  * 54 

10.  The  Greek  Warrior  * From  Bryant.     .  56 

11.  Music  of  Industry  * 57 

12.  Aaron  Burr 59 

13.  Death  of  Hamilton,  Nos.  I,  II From  Mason.      .  60 

15.  The  Gambler's  Wife* From  Coates.      .  63 

16.  Look.  Aloft  * 64 

17.  The  Duel,  (Dialogue,)  Scenes  I,  II,  III     .     .  From  Sheridan.  .  64 

20.  Hayne  on  Webster  . .  72 

21.  Webster's  Reply  to  Hayne,  Nos.  I  to  V 73 

26.  New  England's  Dead  * 79 

27.  New  England From  Prentiss.   .  80 

28.  The  Homes  of  England  * From  ffemans.    .  81 

29.  The  Hermit  Hunter  * From  Tuppcr.    .  82 

30.  The  Doctor,  (Dialogue,)  Scenes  I  to  IV    .     .  From  Fielding.    .  83 

34.  Removal  of  Troops  from  Boston    ....  From  Chatham.  .  96 

35.  The  Stamp  Act From  Chatham.  .  98 

36.  Reconciliation  with  America From  Chatham.  .  99 

37.  On  an  Address  to  the  King,  Nos.  I,  II    .     .  From  Chatham.  .  101 

39.  Apostrophe  to  Liberty  * From  Knowles.  .  104 

40.  Gertrude  * From  Hemans.    .  105 

41.  Description  of  a  Fop* From  Shakspeare.  107 

42.  Hotspur  and  King  Henry,  *  (Dialogue,} .     .  From  Shakspeare.  108 

43.  Hotspur's  Soliloquy From  Shakspeare.  Ill 

44.  Partition  of  Poland From  Fox.     .     .  112 

45.  Legislature  of  Ireland,  Nos.  I,  II  .     .     .     .  From  Plunket.    .  113 

47.  America From  Phillips.    .  116 

48.  Famine  in  Ireland -From  Prentiss.   .  117 

49.  Abou  Ben  Adhem  * From  Hunt.  .     .  119 

9 


10  CONTENTS. 

EXERCISE.  PAGE. 

50.  Resignation  * From  Longfellow.  120 

61.  The  Beleaguered  City* From  Longfellow.  120 

52.  Breach  of  Promise,  Nos.  I,  II  .     .     .     .     .  From  Dickens.   .  122 

54.  The  Tender  Husband* 125 

55.  The  Sentimental  Husband  * From  Hood.  .     .  126 

56.  The  Influence  of  Woman From  Webster.  .  128 

57.  Marie  Antoinette From  Burke.      .  129 

58.  Eienzi,*  (Dialogue,}  Scenes  I,  II  .     .     .     .  From  Mitford.    .  130 

60.  True  Eloquence      .........  From  Webster.  .  136 

61.  Hamlet  to  the  Players From  Shakspeare.  137 

62.  Affectation  in  the  Pulpit* From  Cowper     .  138 

63.  Evils  of  Intemperance From  Sprague.   .  139 

64.  Danger  of  Intemperance From  Beecher.    .  141 

65.  Water  for  Me  * 142 

66.  Remorse  of  De  Moor From  Schiller.    .  143 

67.  The  Guilty  Conscience* From  Shakspeare.  144 

68.  Soliloquy  of  Hamlet's  Uncle  *      ....  From  Shakspeare.  145 

69.  National  Morality From  Beecher.    .  146 

70.  Arrangements  of  Providence*     ....  From  Pope.  .     .  147 

71.  Skepticism* From  Campbell.  148 

72.  The  Inquiry • 149 

73.  The  Cross 150 

74.  Justice From  Carlyle.    .  152 

75.  Maeduff  and  Rosse,*  (Dialogue.}  ....  From  Shakspeare.  153 

76.  Secession,  Nos.  I,  II,  III From  Webster.  .  155 

79.  The  American  Republic  * From  Byron.      .  159 

80.  The  Union,  Nos.  I,  II,  III From  H.  Clay.  .  160 

83.  Scene  after  a  Battle  * From  Byron.      .  164 

84.  Not  on  the  Battlefield  * From  Pierpont.  166 

85.  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  Nos.  I,  II    .     .     .     .  From  Lamartine.  167 

87.  Lafayette  in  America      .......  From  Prentiss.    .  170 

88.  Lafayette  and  Napoleon From  Prentiss.    .  172 

89.  Winter  and  Death  * From  Thomson. .  172 

90.  Rudiger's  Last  Banquet  * 175 

91.  John  Day  * From  Hood.  .     .  1 76 

92.  The  Watchman,  (Dialogue,}  Scenes  I,  II    .  From  Shakspeare.  178 

94.  Liberty  of  the  Press From  Curran.     .  182 

95.  Clear  the  Way  * 183 

96.  Press  On  * 184 

97.  Where  Should  the  Scholar  Live  ?      .     .     .  From  Longfellow.  185 

98.  The  Beautiful  * •   .     .  186 

99.  Invective  against  Mr.  Flood From  Grattan.   .  187 

100.  Invective  against  Mr.  Corry From  Grattan.  .  189 

101.  Denunciation  of  Verres From  Cicero.      .  190 

10J2.  Spartacus From  Kellogg.    .  192 


CONTENTS.  11 

EXEBCISE.  PAGE. 

103.  The  Gladiator  * 194 

104.  Death  of  Marmion  * From  Scott.   .     .  196 

105.  Othello  and  lago,*  (Dialogue,)       .     .     .     .  From  Shakspeare.   198 

106.  Matrimony From  Fanny  Fern.  201 

107.  The  Disappointed  Husband  * 202 

108.  America  Ascendant From  Phillips.   .  203 

109.  Washington From  Phillips.   .  204 

HO.  Wisdom  of  Washington From  Fox.     .     .  205 

111.  Washington's  Birth-day From  Webster.  .  207 

112.  What  Constitutes  a  State  * *  'V^'*1 '-£"£-  .  208 

113.  Marathon* From  Byron.      .  209 

114.  Athens • From  Macaulay.  210 

115.  Greece  * From  Byron.      .  212 

116.  The  Flight  of  Xerxes  * 213 

117.  The  Peruvian  Prisoner,  (Dialogue,)  .     .     .  From  Sheridan.  .  214 

118.  Rolla  and  Alonzo,  (Dialogue,} From  Sheridan.  .  216 

119.  The  Indians From  Story.        .  220 

120.  The  Indian's  Burial  Place  * From  Bryant.     .  222 

121.  The  Defiance 224 

122.  The  Seminole  * 225 

123.  Gertrude  of  Wyoming* From  Campbell.  226 

124.  Outalissi  * From  Campbell.  227 

125.  Paul  Pry,  (Dialogue,)  .     .     .     ....    -.  From  Poole.       .  229 

126.  Taxes From  Sydney  Smith.234; 

127.  A  Political  Conversion    .     .H  •.*-*.     .  . .  From  Webster.    .  235 

128.  The  Coalition From  Webster.    .  237 

129.  Mr.  Dane .  - .     .  From  Webster.    .  238 

130.  Nature's  Gentleman* 239 

131.  Bernadine  Du  Born  * From  Sigourney  .  240 

132.  Richard  I* •.     /  v  From  Ilemans.    .  241 

133.  Prevalence  of  War '.    .  From  Grimke.    .  243 

134.  War  Falsely  Colored  .     .     ...    :•'  V    .  From  Chalmers..  244 

135.  The  Dying  Soldier Vr:M'y-;    .  245 

136.  War  Unchristian    .     • 246 

137.  Peace  * From  Shelley.     .  248 

138.  War  * From  Shelley.     .  248 

139.  Teachings  of  Nature* From  Pollok.      .  249 

140.  The  Hurricane  * From  Bryant.     .  251 

141.  Summer  Heat  * From  Thomson. .  252 

142.  No !  * From  Hood.  .     .  253 

143.  The  Sheep  Stealer,  (Dialogue,)  Scenes  I,  II .254 

145.  What  has  America  Done  ? 259 

146.  True  Ambition From  H.  Clay.    .  260 

147.  Henry  Clay From  Seward.     .  261 

148.  Remembrance  of  Good 263 


12  CONTENTS. 

EXEBCISE.  PAGE. 

149.  Triumph  of  Hope  * From  Campbell.      264 

150.  The  Three  Homes  * 265 

151.  J.  Q.  Adams,  Nos.  I,  II    .     .    .     . 266  -^ 

153.  Men  who  Never  Die From  Everett.     .  268^*" 

154.  I  Gather  them  In  * 269 

155.  Bernardo  Del  Carpio  * From  Ifemans.    .  270 

156.  Responsibility  of  Americans From  Webster.   .  272 

157.  Public  Faith From  Ames.  .     .  273 

158.  Public  Virtue From  If.  Clay.  .  275 

159.  Duty  of  Chief  Magistrate From  Webster.  .  276 

160.  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago* From  Mellen.      .  278 

161.  Rich  and  Poor From  Webster.  .  279 

162.  Nature  and  Art  * From  Goldsmith.  281 

163.  Cruelty* From  Cowper.    .  282 

164.  Robin  Roughhead,  (/%%«<>,)  Scenes  I,  II,  III 283 

167.  The  Poor  House  * From  Crabbe.     .  289 

168.  Nobility  of  Labor From  Deivey.      .  290 

169.  Religion  the  Basis  of  Independence  .     .     .  From  Quincy.     .  291 

170.  Reform From  Chopin.     .  293 

171.  Never  Despair  * 294 

172.  Mothers  of  the  West  * From  Gallagher.  295 

173.  Value  of  Reputation  **T From  Phillips.    .  296 

174.  The  Informer From  Curran.     .  297 

175.  Philosophy  of  Virtue From  Canning.  .  298 

176.  The  Editor *. 299 

177.  The  Quiz,  (Dialogue,}       301 

178.  Greek  Revolution From  Webster.   .  306 

179.  Liberty  to  Greece* From  Percival.   .  308 

180.  Greek  War  Song* From  Campbell.  309 

181.  The  Pilgrims,  Nos.  I,  II From  Everett.     .  310 

183.  Arrival  of  the  Mayflower From  Everett.     .  314 

184.  Fruits  of  Pilgrim  Enterprise 316 

185.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  * From  Pierpont.  .  317 

186.  The  Martyrs  * From  Hcmans.    .  318 

187.  The  Guebers* .  From  Moore.       .  319 

188.  The  Peasant  Boy,  (Dialogue,} 321 

189.  Orator  Climax 325 

190.  Art  of  Puffing,  (Dialogue,} From  Sheridan.  .  326 

191.  Defense  of  Socrates,  Nos.  I,  II,  III 331 

194.  Emmett's  Defense,  Nos.  I,  II,  III,  IV 335 

198.  Ireland From  a  Cornell.  342 

199.  Bertram  * From  Scott.   .     .  343 

200.  Mazeppa  * From  Byron.      .  345 

201.  The  Hunter's  Song* From  Proctor.    .  347 

202.  Call  on  Hungary From  Kossuth.  .  348 


CONTENTS.  13 

EXERCISE.  PAGE_ 

203.  Hungary Prom  Webster.   .  350 

204.  Fate  of  Goldau*    .     . From  NeaL   .     .  352 

205.  The  Vulture  *    .     . 353 

206.  A  kide  from  Ghent  to  Aix *    .     . 355 

207.  The  Wife,  (Dialogue,)  Nos.  I,  II,  III  .     ,     .  From  Sheridan.  .  357 

210.  Beauties  of  Sacred  Literature      ....  From  Grimke.    .  366 

211.  Bless  the  Lord From  the  Bible.  367 

212.  Condition  of  the  Wicked From  the  Bible.  368 

213.  Adam* .     ;'' I     ...  369 

214.  Mont  Blanc  * From  Coleridge.  370 

215.  Progress  of  Science From  Webster.  .  372 

216.  The  Present  Age    .    • From  Charming.  373 

217.  American  Liberty From  Story.  .     .375 

218.  American  Literature From  Grimke.    .  376 

219.  The  River,*  Nos.  I,  II,  III From  Bryant     .  377 

222.  True  Popularity From  Mansfield.  381 

223.  National  Glory From  II.  Clay.  .  382 

224.  Duty  to  Our  Country From  Story.        .  384 

225.  Our  Liberty  in  Our  Own  Keeping 386 

226.  The  Torch  of  Liberty  * From  Moore.      .  387 

227.  King  Lear,*  (Dialogue,}  Scenes  I  to  V  .     .  From  Shakspeare.  389 

232.  The  Quack 403 

233.  The  Learner  * .  404 

234.  Plea  for  Ireland      . From  Grattan.  .  406 

235.  Wrongs  of  Ireland From  Phillips.   .  407 

236.  Defense  of  Irish  Character From  Phillips.   .  409 

237.  Irish  Courtesy,  (Dialogue,} 410 

238.  Redmond  O'Neal  * From  Scott.   .     .  412 

239.  Scotland 414 

240.  The  Last  Minstrel,*  Nos.  I,  II       ....  From  Scott.    .     .  416 

242.  The  War  Gathering*      .     .     .     .  t J. '. _  ;.  From  Scott.    .     .  420 

243.  The  Bow* *.   ' From  Hemans.    .  422 

244.  Speech  on  America     .     . From  Barre. .     .  423 

245.  American  Taxation From  Burke.      .  425 

246.  England's  Right  to  Tax  America      .     .     .  From  Burke.      .  426 

247.  Otis  on  Taxation    .   f.  '_.  ';.    .     .     . 427 

248.  The  Pioneer*     .     .     .     ."    .    .     .     .     .     .  From  Brainard.  429 

249.  Roderic.  Dhu,*  (Dialogue,}    ......  From  Scott.   .     .  430 

250.  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  Nos.  I,  II  .     .     .  From  Webster.  .  434 
flofl.  Monument  to  Washington From  Everett.     .  436 

253.  Soldiers  of  the  Revolution From  Sprague.   .  438 

254.  Hector  * From  Homer.     .  439 

255.  England's  Dead  * .  From  Hemans.    .  441 

256.  Charge  of  Light  Brigade  * From  Tennyson.  442 

257.  The  Onset  *  .                   From  Proctor.    .  443 


14  CONTENTS. 

EXERCISE.  PAGE. 

258.  Lament  for  Carthon   .     .     .     .     ...     .  From  Ossian.      .  444 

259.  Burial  of  Ophelia,  (Dialogue,)      .     .     .     .  From  Shakspeare.   445 

260.  Doctor  Slop From  Sterne.      .  447 

261.  The  Supper  * 448 

262.  Caius  Marius,  Nos.  I,  II ".  '•%  '.^   ..'  ,",  /  .  450 

264.  American  Navy From  Cobden.     .  452 

265.  The  Sailor From  Stockton.  .  454 

266.  The  Wreck  * From  Hemans.   .  455 

267.  Only  One  Night  at  Sea  * .>....     .  456 

268.  Ennui,  (Dialogue,}       From  Mathews.  .  457 

269.  The  Modern  Belle* 460 

270.  The  Embargo From  Quincy.     .  461 

271.  Political  Corruption From  M*  Dvffie.  .  462 

272.  Party  Spirit From  H.  Clay.   .  464 

273.  National  Antipathies From  Choate.     .  465 

274.  Suppression  of  a  Mob From  Byron.      .  466 

275.  The  Murdered  Traveler  * From  Bryant.     .  468 

276.  The  Death-Fire  * From  Stephens.  .  469 

277.  The  Miser* 470 

278.  Love  of  the  World  * From  Cowper.    .  472 

279.  Self-interest,  (Dialogue,} 473 

280.  System  of  Finance From  Mirabeau.  477 

281.  Hyder  AH From  Burke.      .  478 

282.  Standing  Armies From  Pultney.    .  480 

283.  Spirit  of  Peace 482 

284.  Our  Republic  an  Experiment From  Everett.     .  483 

285.  L' Allegro* From  Milton.      .  484 

286.  II  Penseroso  * From  Milton.      .  486 

287.  Address  to  the  Sun From  Ossian.      .  488 

288.  The  Night* From  Proctor.    .  489 

289.  Night  * rrom  Montgomery.  490 

290.  Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean  * From  Proctor.    .  491 

291.  The  Coral  Grove* .  From  Per cival.   .  492 

292.  The  Miller,  (Dialogue,} 493 

293.  Ode  on  Cecilia's  Day  * From  Dryden.    .  496 

294.  Drunkenness From  Taylor.     .  497 

295.  The  Bowl  * "...  498 

296.  There  is  a  God !  500 

297.  My  Mother's  Bible* .'!.'.  501 

298.  Survivors  of  Bunker  Hill,  Nos.  I,  II     .     .  From  Webster.    .  602 


ELEMENTARY  PRINCIPLES. 


THE  art  of  speaking  well,  requires  attention  to  the 
following  subjects : 

ARTICULATION,  THE  VOICE,  its  management, 

INFLECTION,  THE  VOICE,  its  culture, 

EMPHASIS,  GESTURE. 


I.   ARTICULATION. 

ARTICULATION  is  the  formation  of  sounds  by  the 
organs  of  speech. 

To  secure  a  correct  and  distinct  articulation  of  words, 
the  following  faults  must  be  carefully  avoided  : 


Incorrect. 

Correct. 

dcs-t'ny 
col'ny 
eb'ny 
crit'cism 

des-tz-ny. 
col-o-ny. 
eb-o-ny. 
crit-t-cism. 

I.    DROPPING   A   VOWEL. 

Incorrect.  Correct. 

reg'lar  reg-n-lar. 

fcm'ral  fem-o-ral. 

man 'fold  man-i-fold. 

prob'ble  prob-a-ble. 


II.    SOUNDING   A   VOWEL   INCORRECTLY. 


Incorrect. 

Correct. 

Incorrect. 

Correct. 

ob-stun-it 

ob-sti-nate. 

fel-er-ny 

fel-o-ny. 

wv-ent 

e-vent. 

cir-ki-late 

cir-c?Mate. 

ter-ri«b-ble 

ter-rz-ble. 

reg-/-late 

reg-M-late. 

judg-mwnt 

jurlg-ment. 

treat-  nmnt 

treat-ment. 

pil-ler 

pil-low. 

tem-per-wnce 

tem-per-ance. 

15 

16 


ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 


III.    OMITTING   A   CONSONANT. 


Incorrect 

He  an*  his  brother. 
The  severes'  storm. 
Singin',  talkin',  shoutin'. 
They  cas'  the  mas'  down. 


Correct. 

He  and  his  brother. 
The  severest  storm. 
Singing,  talking,  shouting. 
They  casrf  the  maste  down. 


IV.    MISPRONOUNCING  SYLLABLES. 
Incorrect.  Correct. 

mis'-rwr-ble  mis'-er-a-ble. 

nes  x-sa-ry  ne  x-ces-sa-ry . 

tol'-rer-ble  tolx-er-a-ble. 

co-tern '-p'r'y  co-tern '-po-ra-ry. 

V.    BLENDING  WORDS   TOGETHER. 
Incorrect,  Correct. 

He  wen  ton.  He  wentf  on. 

For  man  ^illusion  given.  For  man's  illusion  given. 

With  fortitu  ^resigned.  With  fortitude  resigned. 

Bri  fas  the  summer.  Bright  as  the  summer. 

PRACTICE  is  the  only  thing  necessary  to  insure  a  correct 
and  distinct  articulation,  except  in  those  very  few  cases  in 
which  there  is  a  defect  in  the  organs  of  speech.  But  this 
practice  must  be  judicious,  faithful,  and  perseveringly  con- 
tinued. 


DIRECTIONS  FOR  PRACTICE. 

I.    Let   the   learner   practice   upon   the  vowels   by   pro- 
nouncing the  word,  and  then  the  vowel  sound. 


U 

3 

u 

4 

u 

boy 
now 


For  very  extensive  exercises  on  these  sounds,  see  McGuffey's 
New  Second,  Third,  Fourth,  Fifth  and  Sixth  Eclectic  Readers. 


1 

i 

2 

2 

2 

2 

2 

mate 

a 

met 

e 

not 

0 

rub 

2 

2 

3 

3 

3 

3 

• 

mat 

a 

her 

e 

nor 

0 

fur 

4 

3 

a 

fine 

i 
i 

wolf 

4 
0 

pull 

fall 

4 

a 

4 

? 

5 

move 

5 

0 

oi 

5 

5 

3 

3 

6 

6 

was 

a 

sir 

• 

1 

dove 

0 

ou 

i 

i 

i 

1 

i 

1 

me 

e 

note 

0 

rude 

U 

Y  sa 

ARTICULATION. 


17 


II.  Let  the  learner  practice  upon  the  consonant  sounds, 
single  and  combined,  pronouncing  first  the  word,  and  then 
the  consonant  element. 


WORD.           ELEMENTS. 

WORD.          ELEMENTS. 

WORD.          ELEMENTS. 

bib              b. 

paddle        dl. 

mix             ks. 

did             d. 

paddles       dlz. 

mixt            kst. 

fife              f. 

paddlest     dlst. 

sect             kt. 

gig              g- 

paddled      did. 

sects            kts. 

he               h. 

drop            dr. 

queen         kw. 

jo               j. 

bids            dz. 

fold             Id. 

kick            k. 

bidst           dst. 

folds           Idz. 

lull             1. 

muffle         fl. 

fold'st        Idst. 

mum           m. 

muffles        flz. 

gulf            If. 

nun             n. 

muffled       fid. 

gulfs           Ifs. 

pop             p. 

muffledst    fldst. 

tills             Iz. 

row             r. 

from            fr. 

tillst           1st, 

sit               s. 

pufs            fs. 

hilt             It. 

tat               t. 

pufst           fst. 

hilts            Its. 

van             v. 

sift              ft. 

hem'd         md. 

web            w. 

sifts            fts. 

hem'dst      mdst. 

yet          y. 

siftst           ftst. 

nymph        mf. 

zag              z. 

joggle         gl. 

nymphs      mfs. 

zha              zh. 

joggles       glz. 

hems           mz. 

sha              sh. 

jogglest      gist. 

hemst         mst. 

chin             ch. 

joggled       gld. 

send            nd. 

the               th. 

joggledst    gldst. 

sends          ndz. 

thin             th. 

digs            gz. 

sendst         ndst. 

hang           ng. 

digst           gst. 

kindl'          ndl. 

brim           br. 

digg'd        gd. 

kindl's        ndlz. 

blab             bl. 

digg'dst      gdst. 

kindl'st      ndlst. 

babbles      biz. 

grim            gr. 

kindl'd       ndld. 

babblest     blst. 

wedg'd  ~  jd. 

kind'ldst    ndldst. 

babbled      bid. 

clip             kl. 

ranks          nks. 

babbledst  bldst. 

tackl's        klz. 

rankst        nkst. 

dubs           bz. 

tackl'st       klst. 

rank'd        nkd. 

dubst          bst. 

tackl'd        kid. 

rank'dst     nkdst. 

robd            bd. 

tackl'd'st    kldst. 

flinch           nch. 

robdst        bdst. 

crop            kr. 

flinch'd       nchd. 

NEW  EC.  S.—  2 

18 


ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 


WORD.          ELEMENTS. 

WORD.          ELEMENTS. 

WORD.          ELEMENTS. 

change        nj. 
chang'd      njd. 
rings           ngz. 
ring'd         ngd. 
runs            nz. 

darts           rts. 
dartst         rtst. 
parch          rch. 
parch'd       rchd. 
scan             sk. 

bang'd        ngd. 
bangdst      ngdst. 
thinks         nks. 
thinkst       nkst. 
rank'd         nkd. 

runst           nst. 

asks            sks. 

rankdst       nkdst. 

rent             nt. 

ask'd           skd. 

width          dth. 

rents           ntz. 

askst           skst. 

widths         dths. 

plan            pi. 
print           pr. 
sept             pt. 
septs           pts. 
cord            rd. 

ask'dst       skdst. 
lisp             sp. 
lisps            sps. 
lisp'd          spd. 
fist              st. 

bulge          Ij. 
bulg'd        Ijd. 
bulb            Ib. 
bulbs          Ibz. 
milk            Ik. 

cords           rdz. 

fists             sts. 

milks          Iks. 

cordst         rdst. 

sweet          sw. 

milkst        Ikst. 

hark           rk. 

strut           str. 

milk'd         Ikd. 

harks          rks. 

bottl'           tl. 

milk'dst     Ikdst. 

harkst         rkst. 

bottles        tlz. 

helm           1m. 

hark'd        rkd. 

bottlest      tlst. 

helms          Imz. 

hark'dst     rkdst. 
hurl            rl. 
hurls          rlz. 
hurlst         rlst. 
hurl'd         rid. 
hurl'dst      rldst. 

bottl'd        tld. 
bottl'dst     tldst. 
hits             ts. 
hitst           tst. 
try               tr. 
twelve         tw. 

help            Ip. 
helps           Ips. 
helpst         Ipst. 
help'd         Ipd. 
help'dst      Ipdst. 
valve           Iv. 

urge            rj. 
urg'd          rjd. 
harm           rm. 
harms         rmz. 
harmst        rmst. 
harm'd        rmd. 
harm'dst     rmdst. 

prism          zm. 
puzzl'          zl. 
puzzles       zlz. 
puzzlest      zlzst. 
puzzl'd        zld. 
pwzzl'dst    zldst. 
shrink         shr. 

valves         Ivz. 
health         1th. 
healths       Iths. 
filch            Ich. 
filch'd         Ichd. 
turf             rf. 
turfs            rfs. 

burn        .  rn. 

sooth'd       thd. 

turfst          rfst. 

burns          rnz. 

soothes       thz. 

turf'd         rfd. 

burnst        rnst. 

sooth'st      thzt. 

turf'dst      rfdst. 

burn'd        rnd. 
burn'dst     rndst. 

sings           ngz. 
singst         ngst. 

throb          thr. 
thwack       thw. 

ARTICULATION.  19 

III.  Let  the  learner  practice  upon  words  and  sentences 
containing  difficult  sounds  or  combinations. 

EXAMPLES. 

Thrifty,  hlotck'd,  milk'd,  prob'dst,  begg'dst.  PlucA,-' dst, 
hoast'st,  vfrong'dst,  prostrate,  hush'dst.  Thou  spli^'s^  the 
umvedgeable  and  gnarled  oak. 

When  Ajax  strives  some  rocks  \ast  weight  to  throw.  Up  the 
7tigh  7iill  he  heaves  a  7*uge  round  stone.  The  battle  lusts  still. 
The  hosts  still  stood. 

He  could  pay  no  one.  He  could  pain  no  one.  His  cry 
moved  me.  His  crime  moved  me.  Wastes  and  deserts.  Waste 
sand  deserts. 


And  gleaming,  and  streaming,  and  steaming,  and  beaming. 
And  curling,  and  whirling,  and  purling,  and  twirling.  Advanc- 
ing, and  dancing,  and  prancing,  and  glancing. 

Delaying,  and  straying,  and  playing,  and  spraying.  Lucu- 
bration, lugubrious,  incalculably,  disinterestedly.  Apocrypha, 
agricultural,  astrological,  chronological. 

He  gave  him.  good  advice  which  he  did  not  7*eed.  He  came 
at  last  too  late  to  be  .of  any  service.  The  magistrates  stood  on 
an  elevated  platform. 


A  good  deal  of  disturbance  seemd  aboutf  to  follow.  No  one 
dared  do  what  ougM  to  have  been  done.  Co-extensively,  neces- 
sarily, ordinarily,  apologetic. 

Apocalyptic,  congratulatory,  expostulatory,  ecclesiastical. 
Spirituality,  compatibility,  dietetically,  authoritatively.  Anni- 
hilation, colloquially,  collaterally,  appropriate. 

A  thousand   shrieks   for   hopeless   inercy  call.     The  act  more 
than  all  other  acts    laid   the    ax     at   the   root.     Then 
crac&Zing,  crashing  thunder  down. 


Thou  hast  not  as7ced  riches,  or  wea?/7i,  or  honor.  Thou  hast 
not  as&ed  long  life,  but  hast  asked  wisdom.  The  magistrates 
ought  to  prove  the  charge. 

The  magistrates  sought  to  prove  the  charge.  On  both  sides 
an  ocean  exists.  On  both  sides  a  ?iotion  exists. 

He  proposed  an  amicable  adjustment.  The  ceremoniousness 
of  his  incommunicability  is  inexplicable.  Most  hypocritical  was 
the  counter-revolutionary  movement. 


20  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

His  extraordinary  untractableness  shows  no  disinterestedness. 
I  never  saw  such  a  saw  as  this  saw  to  saw  with.  I  say  that, 
that  that  that  man  said  is  not  that  that  I  said. 

When  a  twister  atwisting  would  twist  him  a  twist.  For 
twisting  a  twist  three  twists  he  entwists.  If  one  of  the  twists 
untwists  from  the  twist  The  twist  untwisting  untwists  the 
twist. 

Robert  Roily  rolled  a  round  roll  round.  A  round  roll  Robert 
Roily  rolled  round,  round.  Where  rolled  the  round  roll  Roily 
rolled  round  ? 

QUESTIONS. — To  -what  subjects  does  the  art  of  speaking  well  require 
attention?  What  is  articulation?  What  fault  must  be  avoided  1st? 
2d?  3d?  4th?  5th?  (Give  examples  under  each.)  What  is  ne- 
cessary to  insure  a  good  articulation  ?  What  method  of  practice  is 
recommended  1st?  2d?  3d?  (Give  examples  under  each.) 


II.   INFLECTION. 

INFLECTION  is  an  upward  or  downward  slide  of  the 
voice. 

The  rising  inflection  is  an  upward  slide,  and  is  denoted 
by  the  acute  accent,  thus,  (")  :   as, 
Has  he  gone"? 
Will  you  come"? 

The  falling   inflection   is   a  downward  slide,  and  is  de- 
noted by  the  grave  accent,  thus.  (^);  as, 
Where  will  you  gov  ? 
What  has  happened^  ? 

The  circumflex  is  the  union  of  the  two  slides  on  the 
same  syllable,  and  is  marked  thus,  ("-),  where  the  voice 
commences  with  the  falling  and  ends  with  the  rising  in- 
flection ;  or  thus,  (— ),  where  the  order  is  reversed;  as, 

They  require  us  to  be  frugal, 

While  they  revel  in  luxury. 

A  MONOTONE  is  the  utterance  of  successive  syllables  in 
one  unvaried  key,  and  is  denoted  thus,  (-);  as, 
Be  ready,  Gods,  with  all  your  thunder-bolts. 


INFLECTION.  21 

MISCELLANEOUS   EXAMPLES. 

Shall  we  stay',  or  gov  ?         * 
Do  you  say  yes',  or  nov  ? 

Is  he  an  enemy ',  or  a  friendv  ? 
lie  is  a  friend^,  not  an  enemy '. 

Will  you  go  to-day',  or  to-morrowv? 
I  will  go  to-day v,  not  to-morrow '. 

I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is. 

He  must  be  a  fool  to  do  that. 

0  the  grave !   the  grave !   it  buries  every  error ! 

It  covers  every  defect,  extinguishes  every  resentment, 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth. 

True  case  in  writing,  comes  from  artv,  not  chance', 
As  those  move  easiest ',  who  have  learned  to  dancev. 
Can  honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust'? 
Or  flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death'? 
Is  the  king  dead'?   the  empire  unpossessed'? 

Who  can  hold  fire  in  his  hand, 

By  thinking  on  the  lofty  Caueasusv  ? 

What  must  we  do  nowv  ?     Must  we  submit'? 
Did  you  say  at',  or  hatv  ?     I  said  atv,  not  hat'. 
Does  Caesar  most  deserve  fame',  or  blamev? 


RULES  FOR  INFLECTION. 

RULE  I. — Sentences  and   clauses  which  make  com- 
plete sense,  require  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

It  is  truev,  my  liege:   you  are  the  most  powerful  of  kingsv. 
We  are  all  your  slavesv  :    we  kiss  the  dust  of  your  feetv. 
He  that  receiveth  you,  receiveth  mev  :    and  he  that  receiveth 
me,  receiveth  him  that  sentv  me. 

Exceptions. — Emphasis, See  Eule  III. 

Negation,  .     .J'i.- >:-.  • ":i*   .  See  Rule  V. 

Antithesis, See  Rule  IX. 

Harmony, See  Rule  VI. 


22  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

ItuLE  II. — Emphasis  generally  requires  the  falling 
inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Awakev,  ye  sons  of  Spain:  a\vakev,  advanced 
Chargev,  Chester,  chargev  !     Onv,  Stanley,  onv. 
I  insistv  upon  this  point:    I  urgev  it:    I  pressv  it. 
All  that  I  havev,  all  that  I  hopev,  I  stake  upon  it 

Exception. — See  Emphasis,  page  27. 

RULE  III.  —  Interrogative  sentences  and  clauses, 
which  can  not  be  answered  by  yes  or  no,  generally 
require  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Who  discovered  Americav  ? 
Who  are  thesev  ? 
What  must  I  dov  ? 
Where  are  the  wisev  ? 

Exception. — When  questions  like  the  preceding  are  re- 
peated,  they  take  the  rising  inflection  ;  as, 

Who"  discovered  America?     Who"  are  these? 

REMARK. — Although  emphasis  generally  requires  the 
falling  inflection,  it  is  sometimes  denoted  or  aided  by  a 
change  of  the  natural  inflection,  in  which  case  the  rising 
is  used  for  the  falling,  as  in  the  preceding  example. 

RULE  IV. — Where  the  sense  is  suspended  or  incom- 
plete, the  rising  inflection  is  generally  used. 

EXAMPLES. 

The  sunset  hues',  so  bright ',  so  beautiful',  have  vanished. 
Friends',  Romans',  countrymen',  lend  me  your  ears. 
As  the  morning  dew  vanishes',  so  life  passes  away. 
The  wind  having  lulled',  they  made  sail  for  the  shore. 

Exceptions. — 1.  Relative  emphasis;  see  page  27. 

2.  Intense  emphasis ;  as, 
Hubertv,  Hubertv,  save  me. 

3.  Formal  terms  of  address  ;  as, 
My  lords  and  gentlemenv,  I  ask  yonr  attention. 


INFLECTIONS.  23 

RULE  V. — Negative  sentences  and  clauses  usually 
require  the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

This  is  not  an  isolated  case". 
We  are  not  left  alone  to  meet  temptation". 
They  are  not  fighting ":  do  not  disturb "  them. 

Exceptions. — 1.  Emphasis;  as, 
Do  you  say  they  are  fighting?     They  are  not^  fighting. 

2.  General  propositions  ;  as, 
Thou  shalt  not  killv. 

RULE  VI. — When  a  sentence  closes  with  the  falling 
inflection,  the  rising  often  precedes  it,  for  the  sake 
of  harmony. 

EXAMPLES. 

Death  comes  to  the  king',  and  to  the  beggarv. 
Every  sorrow  is  hushed",  every  pang  is  extinguishedv. 

Exception. — Emphasis  ;  as, 
Every  manv,  every  womanv,  every  childv  was  slain. 

RULE  VII. —  Interrogative  sentences  and  clauses 
which  can  be  answered  by  yes  or  no,  generally  require 
the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Will  you  deny"  it? 

Can  you  resist  such"  motives? 

Exception. — Emphasis  ;  as, 

Will^  you  deny  it? 

Can>  you  resist  such  motives? 

RULE  VIII. — Interrogative  exclamations,  and  words 
repeated  as  a  kind  of  echo  to  the  thought,  require  the 
rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Who  believes"  it?    Who  does  notv  believe  it? 
And  this  man  is  called  a  poetv.    A  poet"!     Why,  he  is  a  mere 
writer  of  doggerel. 

Ha"!   laugh'st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn? 


24  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

RULE  IX. — Words  and  clauses  used  antithetically,  or 
in  contrast,  require  opposite  inflections. 

EXAMPLES. 

The  young'  and  the  oldv,  the  rich'  and  the  poorv,  alike  go 
the  way  of  all  the  earth. 

Are  animals  governed  by  instinct',  or  by  reasonv  ? 
Homer  was  the  greater  genius',  Virgil  the  better  artistv. 
A  soldier  should  obeyv,  not  direct'  his  general. 
It  is  virtuev,  not  wealth'  that  is  respected. 


SERIES. 

A  SERIES  is  a  number  of  words  or  clauses,  following 
one  another  in  the  same  construction. 

A  Simple  series  consists  of  words ;  as, 

Beauty,  wealth,  honor,  power,  are  ephemeral. 

A  Compound  series  consists  of  claiises ;  as, 
The  sky  was  cloudless ;   the  breeze  moved  lightly ;   the  grass 
looked  fresh;    and  the  merry  crickets  chirped  in  all  directions. 

A  Commencing  series  commences  a  sentence  or  clause;  as, 
Beauty,  wealth,  honor,  and  power,  are  ephemeral. 

A  Concluding  series  concludes  a  sentence  or  clause;    as, 
Nothing   is   more   ephemeral,  than   beauty,  wealth,   honor,   or 
power. 

RULE  X. — The  members  of  a  commencing  series  re- 
quire the  falling  inflection,  except  the  last,  which 
receives  the  rising  inflection. 

The  members  of  a  concluding  series  require  the  fall- 
ing inflection,  except  the  last  but  one,  which  has  the 
rising  inflection. 

COMMENCING   SERIES. 

Beauty^,  wealthv,  honorv,  power',  are  ephemeral. 
To  succor  the  oppressedv,  to  relieve  the  needy v,  to  advise  the 
ignorantv,  to  comfort  the  afflicted',  is  the  duty  of  all. 


INFLECTION.  25 

CONCLUDING    SERIES. 

Nothing  can  be  more  ephemeral  than  beauty^,  wealthv,  honor', 
or  power's 

It  is  the  duty  of  all,  to  succor  the  oppressed^,  to  relieve  the 
needy v,  to  advise  the  ignorant',  and  to  comfort  the  afflictedv. 

Exception  1. — When  the  members  of  a  series  are  not  at 
all  emphatic,  they  receive  inflection  according  to  previous 
rules ;  as, 

James',  William',  and  Henry',  are  at  school. 

He  is  a  man  of  principle',  intelligence',  and  influenced 

Exception  2. — When  the  members  of  a  series  are  strongly 
emphatic,  they  may  all  receive  the  falling  inflection ;  as, 
Not  one  manv,  not  one  womanv,  not  one  childv  was  saved. 

Exception  3. — When   a  series  forms  a  climax,  the   last 
member  may  receive  the  falling  inflection ;    as, 
Days',  months',  years,'  and  agesv,  shall  circle  away. 

REMARK. — It  is  becoming  very  common  with  good 
speakers,  to  give  the  rising  inflection  to  all  the  members 
of  a  commencing  series,  and  to  all  the  members  of  a  con- 
cluding series,  except  the  last. 

Others  use  the  rising  inflection  in  a  commencing  series, 
and  the  falling  inflection  in  a  concluding  series. 


PARENTHESIS. 

A  CLAUSE  in  a  parenthesis,  should  close  with  the  same 
inflection  that  next  precedes  it,  unless  it  is  complicated  or 
emphatic,  when  it  must  be  governed  by  general  rules.  A 
slight  pause  should  be  made  before  and  after  it,  and  it 
should  be  read  in  a  monotone  or  in  a  low  voice. 

RULE  XI. — The  circumflex  is  used  in  ironical,  con- 
ditional, and  sometimes  in  contrasted  language. 
EXAMPLES. 

A  little  thing!   a  very  little  thing! 
I  only  shoot  at  my  child. 

What  have  I  done  of  which  you  can  complain? 
If  you  say  yes,  then  I  say  no.  *'• 

NEW  EC.  S. — 3 


26  ELEMENTARY    PRINCIPLES. 

RULE   XII. — The   monotone   is   used   in   grave    and 
solemn  subjects. 

EXAMPLES. 

Thus  saith  the  High  and  Lofty  One 
That  inhabiteth  eternity,  whose  name  is  holy, 
I  dwell  in  the  high  and  holy  place. 
Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee  the  all-beholding  sun 
Shall  see  no  more,  in  all  his  course. 


POETIC  INFLECTIONS. 

In  Poetry  the  inflections  are  determined  by  the  same 
rules  as  those  in  prose,  with  this  exception,  that  there  is  a 
greater  tendency  to  the  use  of  the  rising  inflection  in  the 
former,  than  in  the  latter. 

QUESTIONS. — What  is  inflection?  What  is  the  rising  inflection? 
The  falling?  The  circumflex?  The  monotone?  (Give  examples 
under  each.)  Repeat  Rule  1,  with  example.  Rule  2.  Rule  3.  What 
exception?  Rule  4.  Exceptions?  Rule  5.  What  exceptions? 
Rule  6.  What  exception?  Rule  7.  What  exception?  Rule  8. 
Rule  9.  What  is  a  series?  A  simple  series?  A  compound  series? 
A  commencing  series  ?  A  concluding  series  ?  Repeat  Rule  10.  Ex- 
ception 1.  2.  3.  What  is  the  remark?  What  is  said  of  parenthe- 
sis? Repeat  Rule  11.  Rule  12.  What  of  poetic  inflections? 


III.   EMPHASIS. 

EMPHASIS  consists  in  a  certain  manner  of  uttering  a 
word  or  phrase,  designed  to  impress  the  idea  forcibly 
upon  the  hearer. 

Emphasis  may  be  denoted  by  italics,  or  by  small,  or 
large  capitals. 

The  object  of  emphasis  may  be  accomplished, 

1.  By  increased  stress;    as, 

Strike,  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires, 
t         STRIKE,  for  your  altars  and  your  fires. 

2.  By  low  tones;   as, 

While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 

Or  whispering  with  white  lips;  the/oe/  they  come!  they  come! 


EMPHASIS.  27 

3.  By  change  of  inflection  ;  as, 

If  we  regard  not  youthv,  we  should  respect  age'. 
The  sweetest  melody  falls  powerless  upon  the  deaf'  ear.     See 
Remark,  page  22. 

4.  By  a  pause;  as, 

Strike— for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires, 
GOD — and  your  native  land. 

Banished — from  Rome  ?   tried — and — convicted — TRAITOR  ? 
If  ROME — MUST — PALL— WE — are  innocent. 

REMARK.— This,  ( — )  is  called  the  Rhetorical  Pause,  and,' 
when  used  with  judgment,  gives  great  force  and  beauty  to 
emphasis. 

5.  By  change  of  accent;   as, 

G^'-ing  and  /br'-giving  are  different  things. 
I  said  per  '-verted,  not  cow '-verted. 


ABSOLUTE  EMPHASIS. 

ABSOLUTE  emphasis  is  that  which  is  independent  of 
any  comparison  with  other  words  or  ideas. 

EXAMPLES. 

Temperance  promotes  health. 

The  power  of  faith  was  the  preacher 'B  subject. 

We  have  petitioned ;  we  have  REMONSTRATED  ;  we  have  SUPPLI- 
CATED; we  have  PROSTRATED  ourselves  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne. 

AWAKE  !   ARISE  !   or  be  forever  fallen. 

'T  is  horrible!   't  is  hideous!   't  is  hateful! 

0  Hubert !   save  me !   SAVE  me !   from  these  bloody  men. 

Charge,  Chester,  charge;   on,  Stanley,  on. 


RELATIVE  EMPHASIS. 

Relative  emphasis  is  that  which  denotes  or  implies 
antithesis,  or  comparison  with  some  thing  else. 

ONE    SET    OP   ANTITHETIC   WORDS. 

It  is  more  blessed  to  give,  than  to  receive. 


28  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

They  only  «i///ir  injuries  meekly,  \\h»  never  inflict  thorn. 
He  that  knows  himself,  knows  oMer«. 
Study  not  to  shmr  kiiowli-d.uy.   l»ut  to  acquire  it.         ', 
It  is  easier  to  »nen<£  our  faults,  than  to  A  We  thorn. 
Those  who  can  not  bear  a  jost,  should  never  make  ono. 

TWO   SETS   OP  ANTITHETIC  WORDS. 
The  one  was  distinguished  for  his  goodness;   the  other,  for  hia 
vileness, 
The  0»mpfc  inherit  folly  ;   the  prudent  are  crowned  with 


To  err  is  human;   in  forgive,  divine. 
Fame's  flight  is  glory's  fall. 

Why  beholdest  thou  the  mote  in  thy  brother's  eye,  and  con- 
siderest  not  the  beam  in  thine  otr»  eye. 

THREE   SETS   OP   ANTITHETIC  WORDS. 

The  former  reasons  justly  from  false  data  ;  the  latter,  falsely 
from  just  data. 

Pedantry  is  wrong  by  nites;  common  sense  is  rt<7/^  without 
them. 

ANTITHESIS    IMPLIED. 

0  death!   the  #oo<J  man's  friend! 

Implied.   (The  &ad  man's  enemy.) 

In  their  prosperity,  my  friends  shall  neper  hear  of  me. 

Implied.   (In  their  adversity,  always.) 

Shall  we  die  tamely  f  die  atowe  ? 

Implied,   (and  not  bravely  f  soiling  our  lives  dearly?) 

A.  friendly  eye  would  never  see  such  faults. 

Implied.   (An  unfriendly  eye  alone  would  see  them.) 


RHETORICAL  AND  POETIC  PAUSES. 

A  pause  ia  often  made,  when  not  required  by  the  gram- 
matical construction,  to  give  emphasis  to  the  thought. 
This  is  called  tho  rhetorical  pause.  For  an  explanation  and 
examples  of  this,  see  page  27. 

1  M  poetry,  also,  pauses  are  required  for  the  purpose  of 
uiviiiu  beauty  and  expression  to  the  language.  These 
occur, 


EMPHASIS.  29 

1.  At  the  end  of  each  line;    as, 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree — 

The  village  smithy  stands — 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he — 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands; — 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms — 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

2.  About  the  middle  of  each  line,  when  it  is  called  the 
cesura,  and  marked  thus  (  ||  ) ;   as, 

They  laid  her  where  ||  the  sun  and  moon 
Look  on  her  tomb  ||  with  loving  eye, 

And  I  have  heard  ||  the  breeze  of  June 
Sweep  o'er  it,  ||  like  a  sigh, 

And  the  wild  river's  ||  wailing  song 

Grow  dirge-like,  ||  as  it  stole  along. 

3.  Toward  the  beginning  and  close  of  each  line,  when  it 
is  called  the  demi-cesura,  and  marked  thus  (  |  )  ;   as, 

You  must  wake  |  and  call  me  early  ||  call  me  early  |  mother 

dear; 
To-morrow  '11  be  |  the  happiest   time  ||  of  all  the  glad  |  new 

year. 

Ah !   there  |  it  stands  ||  the  same  |  old  house  ! 

And  there  ||  that  ancient  tree, 
Where  I  |  first  trod  ||  in  boyish  |  pride 

And  laughed  ||  in  ancient  glee. 

REMARK. — These  poetic  pauses  should  not  be  so  long 
or  so  placed,  as  materially  to  affect  the  sense.  That  at  the 
end  of  the  line  should  be  the  longest,  the  cesura  next,  and 
the  demi-cesura  should  be  a  very  slight  pause,  and  some 
times  may  be  omitted  altogether. 

QUESTIONS.— What  is  emphasis ?  How  is  it  denoted  1st?  2d?  3d? 
4th?  What  remark  under  this  head?  What  is  the  5th  manner  of 
denoting  it?  What  is  absolute  emphasis?  Give  examples.  Rela- 
tive? Give  examples  of  one  set.  Two  sets.  Three  sets.  Implied? 
Where  do  poetic  pauses  occur  1st?  2d?  3d?  What  is  the  remark 
upon  poetic  pauses? 


0*   T 


30  ELEMENTARY    PRINCIPLES. 

IV.   OF  THE  VOICE. 

ITS  MANAGEMENT  AND  CULTURE. 

With  reference  to  the  voice,  three  things  are  to  be 
chiefly  considered;  viz.  PITCH,  QUANTITY,  and  QUALITY. 

or  PITCH. 
PITCH  of  voice  is  its  degree  of  elevation. 

The  Pitch  in  speaking,  as  in  music,  may  vary  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest  tones.  These  tones  may  be  consid- 
ered as  MEDIUM,  Low,  or  HIGH. 

The  MEDIUM  PITCH  is  that  generally  used  in  common 
conversation. 

This  differs  in  individuals.  The  voice  ranges  above  or  be- 
low this,  according  to  the  sentiment,  but  returns  to  it,  and 
usually  commences  and  closes  a  sentence  upon  this  key-note. 

It  is  appropriate  to  the  narrative,  descriptive,  didactic, 
and  argumentative  styles. 

The  Low  PITCH  includes  all  tones  below  the  medium 
pitch.  This  prevails  chiefly  in  the  expression  of  reve- 
rence, awe,  sublimity,  caution,  scorn,  contempt,  etc. 

EXERCISES    IN    LOW   PITCH. 

Let  the  learner  practice  the  following  examples  repeat- 
edly, going  through  them  all,  first  in  a  tone  a  little  below 
the  medium  pitch,  then  again  a  little  lower,  and  so  on, 
until  he  has  reached  the  lowest  capacity  of  his  voice. 
Let  not  suppression  of  force  be  mistaken  for  low  pitch. 

a  ale  burn  woe  time  low 

e  eel  there  was  doom  bow 

i  isle  aim  has  morn  call 

o  old  aid  man  arm  all 

Hail,  glorious  light! 

The  song  began  from  Jove. 

Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  death. 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth. 


OF    THE    VOICE.  31 

Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul  and  all  that  is  within  me,  bless  his 
holy  name ! 

Unto  thee  I  lift  up  mine  eyes,  0  thou  that  dwellest  in  the 
heavens. 

In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me  and  trembling,  which  made 
all  my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face; 
the  hair  of  my  head  stood  up.  It  stood  still,  but  I  could  not 
discern  the  form  thereof.  An  image  was  before  mine  eyes ; 
there  was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice  saying,  "Shall  mortal 
man  be  more  just  than  God?" 

Thou  glorious  mirror!  where  the  Almighty's  form 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests ;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed,  in  freeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 

Dark  heaving;  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime; 
The  image  of  Eternity,  the  throne 

Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made  ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

(In  the  following  extract,  King  John  is  persuading  Hubert  to  mur- 
der his  nephew  Arthur,  who  is  rightful  heir  to  the  throne.  Hubert's 
part  may  be  read  or  spoken  by  the  teacher  or  some  one  else,  and 
King  John's  in  low  tones,  by  the  one  who  is  practicing.) 

King  John.     I  had  a  thing  to  say, — but  let  it  go ; 
The  sun  is  in  the  heavens,  and  the  proud  day, 
Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Is  all  too  wanton,  and  too  full  of  gauds, 
To  give  me  audience. 

If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand, 
And  thou  possess-ed  with  a  thousand  wrongs : 

Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy, 


Low. . 


Had  baked  my  blood  and  made  it  heavy,  thick ; 
Or  if  that  thou  couldst  see  me  without  eyes, 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongue,  using  conceit  alone, 
Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words ; 
Then,  in  despite  of  brooded,  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  this  bosom  pour  my  thought. 
But,  ah,  I  will  not.     Yet  I  love  thee  well ; 
(.And,  by  my  troth,  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  well. 


32  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

Hubert.     So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake, 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct  to  my  act, 
I  'd  do  it. 

K.  John.     Do  I  not  know  thou  wouldst? 
Good  Hubert,  Hubert,  throw  thine  eye 
On  yon  young  boy.     I  '11  tell  thee  what,  my  friend, 


Low. 


He  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way ; 


I  And  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  trace, 

He  lies  before  me.     Dost  thou  understand  me? 
[  Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hub.     And  I  will  keep  him  so 
That  he  shall  not  offend  your  majesty. 

Low.   |     K.  John.     Death. 

Hub.     My  lord.  „  . 

Low.   |     K.  John.     A  grave. 

Hub.     He  shall  not  live. 

f      K.  John.     Enough. 
I  could  be  merry  now.     Hubert.  I  love  thee. 

LOW.  •{  -nr  11     T  MI  i_    ,.   T    •     i.       j    t?       j.i- 

Well,  I  11  not  say  what  1  intend  for  thee : 
1  Remember 

NOTE. — Additional  examples  should  be  selected  by  the  teacher. 

REMARK.  Exercises  on  Low  Pitch  should  be  numerous 
and  thoroughly  practiced.  Strength  and  flexibility  of  voice 
will  be  thus  increased,  and  by  a  judicious  and  skillful  use 
of  these  tones,  the  speaker  will  greatly  increase  his  power 
over  an  audience. 

The  HIGH  PITCH  includes  all  tones  above  the  medium 
pitch. 

It  is  used  in  the  expression  of  astonishment,  surprise, 
anger,  and  great  excitement  generally. 

EXERCISES   ON    HIGH    PITCH. 

Let  the  following  examples  be  practiced  repeatedly  and 
thoroughly,  first,  in  a  tone  a  little  higher  than  the  medium 
pitch,  then  again,  a  little  higher  still,  and  so  on,  until  the 
highest  pitch  is  reached.  Let  not  loudness  be  mistaken  for 
high  pitch. 


OF   THE   VOICE.  33 


8 

aid 

doom 

bear 

thee 

star 

e 

ease 

bale 

war 

dome 

all 

i 

0 

mine 
low 

arm 
home 

call 

thou 

save 
hail 

pure 
brow 

The  combat  deepens,  on  ye  brave ! 
Who  rush  to  glory  or  the  grave. 

I  tell  thee,  thou  art  defied. 

To  arms  !   the  Greek !   they  come !   they  come ! 

Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more, 
Or  close  the  wall  up 'with  our  English  dead. 
When  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger ; 
Stiffen  the  sinews  ;   summon  up  the  blood  ; 

Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favored  rage. 

On,  on  you  noble  English, 

Whose  blood  is  fetched  from  fathers  of  war  proof! 

Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 

Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even,  fought, 

And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument, 

I  see  you  stand,  like  greyhounds,  in  the  slips, 

Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game  's  afoot : 

Follow  your  spirits,  and,  upon  this  charge, 

Cry— Heaven  for  Harry,  England,  and  St.  George. 

The  border  slogan  rent  the  sky, 
A  Home  !   a  Gordon  !   was  the  cry ; 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows ; 
Advanced,  forced  back,  now  low,  now  high, 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose. 

The  war,  that  for  a  space,  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swept  the  gale, 
And  Stanley !   was  the  cry. 

A  light  on  Marrnion's  vision  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye : 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head, 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted—"  Victory !" 

"Charge!    Chester,  charge !    on!    Stanley,  on  1" 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 

NOTE. — Let  the   teacher  add  to  these,  other  examples. 


34  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

COMPASS  of  voice  consists  in  the  power  of  uttering 
tones  from  a  low  to  a  high  pitch. 

This  varies  in  individuals,  but  may  be  very  much  in- 
creased by  practice. 

EXERCISE   ON    COMPASS. 

Let  the  pupil  pronounce  the  following  words  in  tones 
successively  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  capacity  of  his 
voice,  according  to  the  scale  of  music.  Let  him  go  on  as 
much  higher  or  lower  than  the  model,  as  he  can.  At 
every  new  effort,  the  compass  of  the  voice  will  increase. 

MODEL. 

12 — sol  o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

11 — fa    o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

10 — me  o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

9 — ra    0 — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

8 — do  o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

7 — se    o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

6 — la    o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

5 — sol  o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

4 — fa    o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

3 — me  o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

2 — ra   o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 

1 — do  o — holy,  holy,  holy,  holy. 


a 

ale 

aid 

all 

joy 

world 

e 

eve 

need 

call 

how 

groan 

i 

mine 

find 

was 

rain 

high 

0 

old 

home 

run 

roam 

burn 

High  up  the  hill  he  hies. 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin. 

Round  the  old  home  he  roams. 

Roll  on,  thou  dark  blue  ocean,  roll. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee. 

Thou  image  of  eternity,  the  throne  of  the  Invisible  ! 

Thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

0  sailor  boy,  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight! 


OF   THE   VOICE.  35 

0  sailor  boy,  sailor  boy,  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred,  thy  wishes  repay  ! 

NOTE. — The  two  exercises  preceding  this,  have  been  also  exercises 
on  compass.  But  the  teacher  can  easily  supply  any  number  of  ad- 
ditional examples  he  may  choose.  Pages  147,  148,  173,  183,  and 
many  others  of  this  book,  furnish  appropriate  examples. 


QUANTITY. 

Quantity  is  the  force  of  utterance,  or  stress  of  voice. 

It  has  no  reference  to  high  or  low  tones,  and  must  be 
carefully  distinguished  from  them.  On  the  same  pitch, 
the  utterance  may  vary  in  all  degrees,  between  the  softest 
and  loudest  tones.  Practice  will  increase  this  power  almost 
indefinitely. 

EXERCISE    ON    QUANTITY. 

Practice  each  word  and  sentence,  as  indicated  in  the 
model,  commencing  with  the  softest  and  passing  on  grad- 
ually to  the  loudest  utterance,  retaining  the  same  pitch,  and 
dwelling  on  the  vowel  sound. 

MODEL. 

o       o        o       OOOOOOOO 

aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw  aw 

or  eel  ale  ode  boy  bat 

all  eve  aid  own  joy  hat 

fall  ear  aim  old  oil  rat 

ball  east  ache  oat  join  mat 

All  men  are  mortal. 

The  foe !  they  come  !  they  come  ! 

And  this,  0  world,  is  thy  boon. 

Now  who  be  ye  would  cross,  to-night, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ? 

Boatman  !  do  not  tarry  ! 
And  I  ;11  give  thee  a  silver  pound 

To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry. 

NOTE. — The  teacher  will  readily  find  additional  exercises  in  almost 
any  part  of  this  book.  It  is  recommended  also  that  the  examples 
given  in  the  exercises  on  pitch  be  practiced  under  this  head. 


36  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

REMARK. — Fear,  caution,  awe,  reverence,  and  tender  and 
solemn  emotions,  generally  require  soft  tones:  the  narra- 
tive, argumentative,  didactic  styles,  medium  loudness ;  and 
passion,  and  great  excitement,  loud  tones.  It  must  be 
taken  for  granted,  however,  that,  with  a  moderate  degree 
of  judgment  and  practice,  the  pupil  will  naturally  adapt 
his  voice  to  the  subject.  A  few  examples  are  given  as 
specimens. 

EXERCISE    ON   SOFT   TONES. 

Tread  softly !  bow  the  head ! 

In  reverent  silence  bow! 
No  passing  bell  doth  toll, 
Yet  an  immortal  soul 

Is  passing  now. 

For  the  remainder,  see  McGuffey's  New  High  School  Reader, 
page  457. 

I  have  seen  angels  by  the  sick  one's  pillow ; 

Theirs  was  the  soft  tone  and  the  soundless  tread, 
When  smitten  hearts  were  drooping  like  the  willow, 

They  stood  between  the  living  and  the  dead. 
For  the  rest  of  this,  see   McGuffey's   New  High  School  Reader, 
page  480. 

EXERCISE    ON    LOUD   TONES. 

Ye  sons  of  France,  awake  to  glory ! 

Hark  !     Hark  !  what  myriads  bid  you  rise ! 
Your  children,  wives,  and  grandsires  hoary ; 

Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries ! 
Shall  hateful  tyrants,  mischief  breeding, 

With  hireling  hosts,  a  ruffian  band, 
Affright  and  desolate  the  land, 

While  liberty  and  peace  lie  bleeding? 
To  arms  !  to  arms !  yo  brave  ! 

The  avenging  sword  unsheathe  ! 
March  on !  march  on !  all  hearts  resolved 

On  victory  or  death ! 

For  the  rest  of  this,  see  McGuffey's  New  High  School  Reader, 
page  125. 

Additional  exercises  may  be  found  on  the  following  pages  of  this 
book. 

Soft  tones,  pages  120,  150,  186,  222,  223,  226,  227. 

Loud  tones,  pages  50,  109,  110,  150,  176,  189,  190,  448. 


OF   THE   VOICE.  37 

REMARK. — The  element  of  Time,  or  Movement,  is  some 
times  included  under  Quantity.  This  refers  to  the  rap- 
idity of  utterance,  which  depends  upon  the  time  given  to 
the  vowel  sounds  and  upon  the  length  of  the  pauses.  The 
preceding  exercises  may  be  used  for  practice  in  Movement, 
by  repeating  them  in  all  variations  of  time,  from  the  slow- 
est to  the  most  rapid. 


QUALITY. 

QUALITY  denotes  the  kind  of  sound. 

By  this,  chiefly,  we  distinguish  different  voices,  and  not 
by  pitch  or  quantity.  A  number  of  singers  may  utter  suc- 
cessively a  few  notes  of  music  on  the  same  key  and  with 
the  same  loudness,  and  yet  their  voices  will  be  easily  dis- 
tinguished by  their  different  quality. 

Certain  qualities  should  be  cultivated,  others,  avoided. 
Those  which  should  be  chiefly  cultivated  are  the  Pure,  the 
Orotund,  the  Aspirated,  and  the  Whispering  Tones. 

PURE  TONE. 

A  PURE  TONE  is  one  that  is  deep,  round,  sweet,  and 
clear. 

This  should  form  a  great  portion  of  most  discourse. 
In  cultivating  it,  let  the  following  faults  be  carefully  cor- 
rected. 

1.  A  nasal  tone,  of  all  tones  the  most  disgusting. 

2.  A  guttural  tone,  or   a  kind    of   obstructed  utterance 
from  the  throat.     This  may  be  occasionally  admissible,  but 
is  incompatible  with  purity. 

3.  An  aspirated,  or  half  whispering  tone.     This  has  its 
place  in  the  expression  of  certain  emotions,  but  when  in 
any  degree  habitual,  destroys  purity  of  tone. 

NOTE. — As  a  great  portion  of  most  kinds  of  style  should  be 
spoken  in  this  tone,  particular  exercises  are  considered  unneces- 
sary. For  special  exercises,  if  such  are  desired,  see  pages  54,  81, 
147,  148,  159,  239,  240,  of  this  book. 


38  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

OROTUND  TONE. 

The  OROTUND  TONE  combines  great  volume  and 
strength  with  purity. 

It  takes  its  name  from  the  manner  in  which  it  is  uttered, 
viz.,  ore  rotundo,  or  with  a  round,  widely  opened  mouth. 
It  is  used  in  impassioned  style,  and  forms  the  perfection 
of  voice. 

Great  care  should  be  taken  to  cultivate  this.  In  prac- 
ticing, the  voice  should  come  from  the  throat,  the  mouth 
should  be  opened  wide,  the  tongue  kept  down,  the  aperture 
left  round  and  free  for  the  voice,  and  the  vowel  sound 
dwelt  upon,  as  when  one  shouts  "a — ye,"  or  "ship 
a— hoy,"  or  "f—  i— re." 

EXERCISE   ON   THE   OROTUND. 

It  is  vain  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may  cry  peace  ! 
peace !  but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actually  begun.  The 
next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north,  will  bring  to  our  ears  the 
clash  of  resounding  arms.  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field. 
Why  stand  we  here  idle?  What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish? 
What  would  they  have?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to 
be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?  Forbid  it  Al- 
mighty God.  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take ;  but  as 
for  me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death. 

Sir,  before  God  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My  judgment 
approves  this  measure ;  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it.  All  that 
I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope,  in  this  life,  I  am 
now  ready  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I  leave  off,  as  I  began,  that, 
live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the  Declaration.  It  is 
my  living  sentiment;  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  it  shall  be 
my  dying  sentiment; — independence  now,  and  independence  for- 
ever. 

NOTE. — All  the  speeches  in  this  book  of  an  emotional  character, 
are  exercises  in  this  tone. 


ASPIRATED  TONE. 

The  ASPIRATED  TONE  is  a  kind  of  half  whisper,  or 
rough  breathing. 


OF    THE    VOICE.  39 

It  is  appropriate  to  the  expression  of  strong  aversion, 
horror,  anger,  and  similar  sentiments.  It  should,  therefore, 
be  in  the  power  of  the  speaker  to  use  it  in  its  place,  but 
its  habitual  use,  in  any  degree,  should  be  carefully  avoided. 

EXERCISES   ON   THE   ASPIRATED    TONE. 
Avaunt !   and  quit  my  sight !     Let  the  earth  hide  thee  ! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with. 

Hence,  horrible  shadow! 
Unreal  mockery,  hence ! 

Me  miserable !    which  way  shall  I  fly, 
Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair? 
Which  way  I  fly  is  Hell!   myself  am  Hell! 
And  in  the  lowest  deep,  a  lower  deep, 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me,  opens  wide, 
To  which  the  Hell  I  suffer  seems  a  Heaven! 

Hence!   from  my  sight!    I  hate  and  I  despise  thee! 
Thou  standst,  at  length,  before  me  undisguised, 
Of  all  earth's  groveling  crew  the  most  accursed. 
Thou  worm  !   thou  viper !    to  thy  native  earth 
Return  !   away !     Thou  art  too  base  for  man 
To  tread  upon.     Thou  scum  !   thou  reptile ! 

For  additional  exercises,  see  in  this  book,  pages  144,  145,  297. 


THE  WHISPERING  TONE. 

The  WHISPER  is  appropriate  to  the  expression  of 
deep  awe,  paralyzing  fear,  or  violent  emotion  of  any 
kind,  restrained. 

This  should  be  at  the  command  of  every  speaker  for 
occasional  use.  Its  chief  value,  however,  consists  in  its 
forming  admirable  practice  for  perfecting  the  power  of 
articulation,  and  giving  control  over  the  organs  of  speech 
and  the  action  of  the  lungs. 

REMARK. — This  by  most  authors  is  erroneously  classi- 
fied with  pitch  or  quantity.  But  its  sibilant  character 


40  ELEMENTARY    PRINCIPLES. 

clearly  indicates  its  nature  as  a  quality  of  voice,  and  Dr. 
Rush,  in  his  celebrated  work  on  the  "Human  Voice,"  thus 
classifies  it. 

EXERCISES    IN    THE    WHISPERING   TONE. 

In  order  to  derive  the  full  advantage  of  this  kind  of 
exercise,  the  pupil  should  practice  the  whisper  with  all 
degrees  of  force,  making  his  utterance  as  distinct  as  pos- 
sible. He  will  soon  find  it  easy  to  whisper  so  as  to  be 
heard  at  a  great  distance. 

The  foe !   they  come  !   they  come ! 

"  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  streamlet  whispers  in  its  pebbly  way, 

"  Not  to  myself  alone  I  sparkling  glide ; 

I  scatter  life  and  health  on  every  side, 
And  strew  the  field  with  herb  and  floweret  gay. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  slumber's  chains  have  bound  me, 
Fond  memory  brings  the  light 

Of  other  days  around  me. 

Hark!   they  whisper;   angels  say, 
Sister  spirit !    come  away ! 

For  other  suitable  examples  to  practice  upon,  see  this  book,  pages 
144,  145. 


REMARKS  ON  VOICE. 

REMARK  1. — The  speaker  should  carefully  avoid  com- 
mencing in  a  high  or  loud  tone.  He  should  adopt  one 
rather  under  than  above  a  medium  pitch  and  quantity,  but 
should  very  soon  rise  into  his  natural  key. 

He  will  find  it  much  easier  to  elevate  than  to  depress  his 
voice,  and  he  will  thus  reserve  his  power  for  its  appropri- 
ate place. 

REMARK  2. — When  it  is  found  that  the  voice  has  uncon- 
sciously become  too  high  or  too  loud,  let  the  speaker 
imagine  himself  addressing  those  near  him,  until  the 
proper  tone  is  regained.  This  object  will  be  aided  by  the 
use  also  of  the  monotone^  if  the  subject  admits  it. 


GESTURE.  41 

REMARK  3. — The  importance  of  practice  for  the  attain- 
ment of  power  in  the  management  of  the  voice  can  not  be 
overrated.  While  without  it,  the  highest  gifts  of  nature 
will  accomplish  little,  with  it,  very  moderate  powers  may 
attain  almost  unlimited  excellence. 

REMARK  4. — It  is  very  important  to  efficiency  and  ease 
in  speaking,  that  the  breath  be  properly  managed.  The 
chest  must  be  thrown  out,  the  head  erect,  and  the  lungs 
well  filled.  The  speaker  must  have  a  good  supply  of 
breath.  He  need  not  wait  for  the  close  of  a  sentence  to 
renew  it,  but,  if  necessary,  may  do  this  at  the  pauses. 

QUESTIONS. — What  things  are  to  be  considered  with  reference  to 
the  voice?  What  is  pitch?  What  are  the  three  divisions  of  pitch? 
What  is  the  medium  pitch?  To  what  is  it  appropriate?  What  does 
low  pitch  include  ?  When  is  it  appropriate  ?  What  does  high  pitch 
include?  When  is  it  used?  In  what  does  compass  of  voice  consist? 
How  may  the  voice  be  improved  in  compass?  What  is  quantity? 
From  what  must  it  be  carefully  distinguished?  To  what  does  time 
or  movement  refer?  What  is  quality?  What  qualities  are  men- 
tioned? What  is  pure  tone?  What  must  be  avoided  in  cultivating 
it?  What  is  the  orotund  tone?  From  what  does  it  take  its  name? 
In  practicing,  from  whence  should  the  voice  come  and  how  should 
the  organs  be  managed  ?  What  is  the  aspirated  tone  ?  To  what  is 
it  appropriate  ?  To  what  is  the  whisper  appropriate  ?  In  what  does 
its  chief  value,  as  an  exercise,  consist  ?  What  is  the  1st  remark  on 
voice?  The2d?  The  3d?  The  4th? 


V.   GESTURE. 

GESTURE  includes  attitude  and  action. 

ATTITUDE  refers  to  the  position  of  the  body  and  its 
members :  ACTION,  to  the  movement  of  the  same. 

Gesture,  more  than  any  thing  else,  is  the  natural  expression 
of  thought  and  emotion.  That  which  arises  spontaneously  from 
genuine  feeling,  even  though  ungraceful,  is  preferable  to  that 
which  is  merely  studied  and  affected,  however  graceful  it  may  be. 

Certain  faults,  however,  should  be  carefully  avoided,  and  cer- 
tain graces  cultivated. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 4 


42  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

REMARKS. 

REMARK  1. — The  pupil  must  be  in  earnest,  and  must 
fully  understand,  and  really  fed  what  he  utters. 

There  can  be  no  forcible  or  appropriate  gesture  without  this. 

REMARK  2. — The  position  of  the  body  and  feet  should 
be  natural  and  easy. 

No  audience  can  feel  at  ease,  unless  the  speaker  is  obviously 
so  also.  The  body  should  rest  upon  one  foot,  the  other  being 
thrown  back  or  forward,  to  be  ready  for  an  appropriate  change. 
The  position  should  be  changed  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and 
by  moving  backward  or  forward,  often  enough  to  give  relief  to 
the  muscles,  and  the  appearance,  as  well  as  reality  of  ease.  This 
change,  however,  should  never  be  made  for  the  sake  of  change. 

REMARK  3. — Avoid  a  continued  bobbing  and  shaking  of 
the  head. 

This  is  a  very  common  fault  of  many  otherwise  good  speakers. 
It  is  only  necessary  to  stop  the  ears  and  look  a  moment  at  the 
orator,  to  see  how  ridiculous  an  appearance  it  gives  him.  Natu- 
ral and  appropriate  gesture  always  speaks  for  itself,  though  not 
a  word  should  be  heard. 

REMARK  4. — The  eyes  should  be  fixed  upon  the  audience. 

Half-closed  or  averted  eyes  will  neutralize  every  effort  to  gain 
attention.  The  eyes  and  countenance  express  more,  perhaps, 
than  either  gesture  or  words,  and  he,  who  does  not  use  them 
effectively,  will  never  excite  emotion.  "j_  . 

REMARK  5. — The  arms  should  be  moved  in  curves,  and 
from  the  shoulder  as  a  center. 

This  direction  forbids  a  motion  of  the  arms  from  the  elbows 
merely;  sawing  them  in  straight  lines,  and  permitting  them 
to  hang  by  the  side,  as  if  paralyzed. 

REMARK  6.— The  right  hand  should  be  most  frequently 
used. 

Avoid  an  exclusive  use  of  either  the  right  or  left  hand,  and 
also  a  regular  see-sawing  from  one  to  the  other. 

REMARK  7. — The  hand  should  generally  be  open,  with 
the  fingers  slightly  curved. 

Those  cases  are  excepted,  in  which  the  sentiment  requires  a 
peculiar  expression,  such  as  the  clinched  hand,  etc. 


GESTURE.  43 

REMARK  8. — There  should  be  no  gesture  without  a  reason. 
Extravagant  motion  weakens  emphasis.     The  tendency  is  gen- 
erally to  too  much  gesture. 

REMARK  9. — The  gesture  should  be  with  the  utterance 
of  the  emphatic  word,  or  if  the  speaker  is  much  excited, 
slightly  before  it. 

Gesture,  in  all  cases,  should  be  the  pantomimic  symbol  of  the 
emotion,  and  should  be  spontaneously  connected  with  it. 

REMARK  10. — Gesture  should  be  forcible,  full,  and  free, 
so  that  there  can  be  no  mistake  as  to  its  meaning. 

Feeble  attempts  at  gesture  are  worse  than  none  at  all.  The 
force  of  what  is  said  is  weakened,  and  the  audience  is  disgusted. 

REMARK  11. — No  one  should  be  permitted  to  attempt  to 
commit  a  piece  to  memory,  until  it  is  certain  that  he  un- 
derstands it,  and  can  appreciate  its  sentiment  and  thought. 

The  pupil  should  be  permitted  to  judge  of  this,  to  a  consider- 
able extent,  for  himself.  He  will  speak  best  what  he  under- 
stands and  likes. 

REMARK  12. — No  attempt  to  speak  a  piece  should  be 
permitted,  till  it  is  thoroughly  committed. 

Unless  the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  at  ease  in  this  respect,  he 
can  do  nothing.  This  rule  should  be  insisted  upon. 

REMARK  13. — When  a  speaker  is  before  an  audience,  he 
should  entirely  forget  himself. 

He  should  think  nothing  and  know  nothing  about  his  position, 
or  gestures,  or  voice,  or  emphasis.  If  he  has  been  well  drilled, 
he  will  be  right  in  these  things. 

REMARK  14. — Above  all  things,  let  it  be  remembered, 
that  practice,  continued,  persevering  practice  is  indispensa- 
ble to  excellence,  and  that,  even  under  the  most  unfavor- 
able circumstances,  it  will  secure  astonishing  results. 

REMARK  15. — The  teacher  and  pupil  should  avoid  all 
dependence  on  plates  for  instruction  in  gesture. 

There  can  be  no  greater  humbug,  (if  the  word  may  be  allowed,) 
than  plates,  illustrating  gesture.  A  distinguished  author  very 
correctly  remarks,  that  "they  only  serve  as  a  subject  of  ridicule 


44  ELEMENTARY   PRINCIPLES. 

to  boys."  The  teacher,  as  the  living  model,  and  the  spontaneous 
feeling  of  the  speaker,  with  such  hints  as  have  been  given  and 
as  the  teacher  may  add,  may  be  considered  the  best  guides. 


GENERAL  REMARK. 

The  following  suggestions  are  found,  in  substance,  in  a 
work  by  James  Sheridan  Knowles,  an  English  author  of 
distinction : 

THE  HEAD. — Assent  is  indicated  by  nodding ;  dissent,  by  toss- 
ing back ;  dislike  and  horror,  by  averting ;  attention,  by  leaning 
forward  ;  diffidence,  by  inclining ;  pride  and  courage,  by  holding 
it  up  ;  grief  and  shame,  by  hanging  down. 

THE  EYES. — Anger  is  denoted  by  flashing;  prayer,  by  raising; 
anxiety,  by  rolling;  thought,  by  looking  on  vacancy. 

THE  ARMS. — Disappointment  is  denoted  by  a  sudden  dropping ; 
imploring,  by  stretching  forward ;  admiration,  by  extending  them 
spread ;  authority,  by  projecting  one  forward 

THE  HANDS. — Prayer  and  affliction  are  denoted  by  clasping; 
friendship,  by  holding  one  forward ;  appeal  to  conscience  and 
desire,  by  placing  on  the  breast;  distress,  on  the  head;  shame, 
on  the  eyes ;  silence,  the  finger  on  the  lips. 

THE  BODY. — Courage  and  firmness  are  denoted  by  an  erect  or 
advancing  body;  pride,  by  throwing  it  back;  aversion  and  fear, 
by  retiring ;  reverence  and  compassion,  by  bending  forward ; 
terror,  by  starting. 

QUESTIONS. — What  does  gesture  include?  What  is  attitude?  Ac- 
tion ?  What  is  said  of  being  in  earnest  ?  Of  position  and  its  change  ? 
Of  shaking  the  head?  Of  the  eyes?  Of  the  arms?  Of  the  hand? 
What  is  the  8th  remark?  The  9th?  The  10th?  What  is  said  of 
selecting  a  piece?  (Rem.  11.)  Of  committing?  Of  the  speaker's 
^elf?  Of  practice?  Of  plates?  What  is  the  substance  of  the  con- 
iluding  remark? 


McGUFFEY'S 

NEW 

ECLECTIC   SPEAKER, 


EXERCISE  I.— ADVANCE. 

GOD  bade  the  Sun  with  golden  step  sublime, 

Advance ! 
He  whispered  in  the  listening  ear  of  Time, 

Advance ! 

He  bade  the  guiding  Spirit  of  the  Stars, 
With  lightning  speed,  in  silver-shining  cars, 
Along  the  bright  floor  of  his  azure  hall 

Advance! 
Sun,  Stars,  and  Time  obey  the  voice,  and  all 

Advance ! 

The  river  at  its  bubbling  fountain  cries, 

The  clouds  proclaim,  like  heralds,  through  the  skies, 

Advance ! 

Throughout  the  world,  the  mighty  Master's  laws 
Allow  not  one  brief  moment's  idle  pause. 
The  earth  is  full  of  life,  the  swelling  seeds 
And  summer  hours,  like  flowery -harnessed  steeds, 

Advance ! 

Unto  the  soul  of  man  the  same  voice  spoke, 
From  out  the  chaos  thunder-like  it  broke, 

Advance ! 

Go,  track  the  comet  in  its  wheeling  race,  * 
And  drag  the  lightning  from  its  hiding-place; 
From  out  the  night  of  ignorance  and  tears, 
For  love  and  hope,  borne  by  the  coming  years, 

Advance ! 

(45) 


46  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

All  heard,  and  some  obeyed  the  great  command, 
Ft  passed  along  from  listening  land  to  land, 

Advance ! 

I'he  strong  grew  stronger,  and  the  weak  grew  strong, 
As  passed  the  war-cry  of  the  world  along; 
Awake,  ye  nations,  know  your  powers  and  rights, 
Through  Hope  and  Work,  to  Freedom's  new  delights 

Advance ! 

Knowledge  came  down,  and  waved  her  steady  torch, 
Sages  proclaimed,  'neath  many  a  marble  porch, 

Advance ! 

As  rapid  lightning  leaps  from  peak  to  peak, 
The  Gaul,  the  Goth,  the  Roman,  and  the  Greek, 
The  painted  Briton,  caught  the  wing-ed  word, 

Advance ! 
And  earth  grew  young,  and  caroled  as  a  bird, 

Advance ! 


II.— ELOQUENCE.— No.  I. 

Thig  extract,  and  the  following  one,  may  be  spoken  as  one  piece, 
or  as  two. 

THE  labors  requisite  to  form  the  public  speaker,  are, 
by  no  means,  duly  appreciated.  An  absurd  idea  prevails 
among  our  scholars,  that  the  finest  productions  of  the  mind, 
are  the  fruits  of  hasty  impulse,  the  flashings  of  intuition, 
or  the  gleamings  of  fancy.  Genius  is  often  compared  to 
lightning  from  the  cloud,  or  the  sudden  bursting  out  of  a 
secret  fountain.  And  eloquence  is  regarded  as  a  kind  of 
inspiration.  When  a  man  has  made  a  happy  effort,  he  is 
next  possessed  with  an  absurd  ambition,  to  have  it  thought 
that  it  cost  him  nothing. 

Now  it  is  not  enough  to  maintain  that  nothing  could  be 
more  injurious  to  our  youth,  than  this  way  of  thinking. 
The  truth  is,  that  nothing  can  be  more  false.  The  mis- 
take lies,  in  confounding  with  the  mere  arrangement  of 
thoughts,  or  the  manual  labor  of  putting  them  on  paper, 
the  long  previous  preparation  of  mind.  It  has  taken  but 
a  few  hours,  perhaps,  to  compose  an  admirable  piece  of 

l 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  47 

poetry,  or  a  fine  speech.  But  the  reflections  of  years,  may 
have  been  tending  to  that  result. 

To  give  the  noblest  thoughts  the  noblest  expression  :  to 
stand  up  in  the  pure  light  of  reason  :  to  put  on  all  the 
glories  of  imagination,  as  a  garment :  to  penetrate  the  soul, 
and  to  make  men  conscious  of  new  powers  and  a  new  be- 
ing :  to  exercise,  in  the  loftiest  measure,  the  only  glorious 
and  godlike  sway,  that  over  willing  minds :  to  fill  the  ear, 
the  eye,  the  inmost  soul,  with  sounds,  and  images,  and 
holy  visions  of  beauty  and  grandeur  :  to  make  truth  and 
justice  lovely  and  majestic  :  to  charm,  to  fascinate,  to  win, 
to  arouse,  to  calm,  to  terrify,  to  overwhelm:  this  is  the  work 
of  eloquence;  and  it  is  a  glorious  work. 

The  great  object  of  all  the  liberal  arts  is  to  exhibit  the 
mind;  to  exhibit  character,  thought,  feeling,  in  their  vari- 
ous aspects.  In  this  consist  all  their  power  and  sublim- 
ity. For  this,  the  painter  spreads  upon  the  dull  canvas  the 
breathing  forms  of  life.  For  this,  the  sculptor  causes  the 
marble  to  speak.  For  this,  the  architect  models  the  fair 
and  majestic  structure,  with  sublimity,  beauty,  and  glory 
written  upon  it.  For  this,  the  poet  builds  his  lofty  rhyme; 
and  the  eloquent  in  music,  orders  his  movement  and  com- 
bination of  sweet  sounds.  Eloquence  is  the  combination 
of  all  these  arts,  and  it  excels  them  all  in  their  separate 
powers.  Nor  is  it  confined  to  the  mere  taste. 

The  great  and  ultimate  object  of  social  existence,  is  for 
man  to  act  on  man.  And  eloquence  is  the  grandest  me- 
dium of  this  action.  It  is  not  only  the  highest  perfec- 
tion of  a  human  being,  (for  "the  orator  must  be  a  good 
maw,")  but  it  is  that  perfection  in  act.  It  is  sublimity, 
beauty,  genius,  power,  in  their  most  glorious  exercise. 


III.— ELOQUENCE.— No.  II. 

IMAGINE  to  yourselves  a  Demosthenes,  addressing  the 
most  illustrious  assembly  in  the  world,  upon  a  point 
whereon  the  fate  of  the  most  illustrious  of  nations  de- 
pended. How  awful  such  a  meeting  !  how  vast  the  sub- 
ject !  Is  man  possessed  of  talents  adequate  to  the  great 


48  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

occasion?  Adequate!  Yes,  superior.  By  the  power  of 
his  eloquence,  the  augustness  of  the  assembly  is  lost  in 
the  dignity  of  the  orator.  The  importance  of  the  subject, 
for  a  while,  is  superseded  by  the  admiration  of  his  talents. 

With  what  strength  of  argument,  with  what  powers  of 
the  fancy,  with  what  emotions  of  heart,  does  he  assault 
and  subjugate  the  whole  man;  and  at  once  captivate  his 
reason,  his  imagination,  and  his  passions !  To  effect  this, 
must  be  the  utmost  effort  of  the  most  improved  state  of 
human  nature.  Not  a  faculty  that  he  possesses,  is  here 
unemployed.  Not  a  faculty  that  he  possesses,  but  is  here 
exerted  to  its  highest  pitch.  All  his  internal  powers  are 
at  work.  All  his  external  testify  their  energies.  Within, 
the  memory,  the  fancy,  the  judgment,  the  passions,  are  all 
busy.  Without,  every  muscle,  every  nerve  is  exerted.  Not 
a  feature,  not  a  limb,  but  speaks. 

The  organs  of  the  body,  attuned  to  the  exertions  of  the 
mind,  through  the  kindred  organs  of  the  hearers,  instanta- 
neously vibrate  those  energies  from  soul  to  soul.  Not- 
withstanding the  diversity  of  minds  in  such  a  multitude, 
"by  the  lightning  of  eloquence,  they  are  melted  into  one 
mass.  The  whole  assembly,  actuated  in  one  and  the  same 
way,  becomes,  as  it  were,  but  one  man,  and  have  but  one 
voice.  The  universal  cry  is :  LET  us  MARCH  AGAINST 
PHILIP  ;  LET  us  FIGHT  FOR  OUR  LIBERTIES  ;  LET  us  CON- 
QUER, OR  DIE  ! 


IV.— DENUNCIATION  OF  CATILINE. 

CATILINE,  a  Roman  Senator,  had  conspired  with  others  to  subvert 
the  Republic,  and  to  assassinate  Cicero  the  Consul  and  other  distin- 
guished men.  By  the  exertions  and  eloquence  of  Cicero,  the  plot 
was  defeated  and  Catiline  banished. 

How  far,  O  Catiline,  wilt  thou  abuse  our  patience? 
How  long  shalt  thou  baffle  justice  in  thy  mad  career?  To 
what  extreme  wilt  thou  carry  thy  audacity?  Art  thou 
nothing  daunted  by  the  nightly  watch?  Nothing,  by  the 
city  guards?  Nothing,  by  the  rally  of  all  good  citizens? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  49 

Nothing,  by  the  assembling  of  the  Senate  in  this  fortified 
place  ?  Nothing,  by  the  averted  looks  of  all  here  present? 
Seest  thou  not  that  all  thy  plots  are  exposed  ?  that  thy 
wretched  conspiracy  is  laid  bare  to  every  man's  knowledge, 
here  in  the  Senate?  that  we  are  well  aware  of  thy  pro- 
ceedings of  last  night ;  of  the  night  before  ;  the  place  of 
meeting,  the  company  convoked,  the  measures  concerted? 

Alas,  the  times !  Alas,  the  public  morals  !  The  Senate 
understands  all  this.  The  Consul  sees  it.  Yet  the  traitor 
lives!  Lives?  Ay,  truly,  and  confronts  us  here  in  coun- 
cil ;  takes  part  in  our  deliberations ;  and,  with  his  meas- 
uring eye,  marks  out  each  man  of  us  for  slaughter !  And 
we,  all  this  while,  think  we  have  amply  discharged  our 
duty  to  the  State,  if  we  but  shun  this  madman's  sword  and 
fury ! 

Long  since,  O  Catiline,  ought  the  Consul  to  have  ordered 
thee  to  execution,  and  brought  upon  thy  own  head  the 
ruin  thou  hast  been  meditating  against  others !  There 
was  that  virtue  once  in  Rome,  that  a  wicked  citizen  was 
held  more  execrable,  than  the  deadliest  foe.  We  have  a 
law  still,  Catiline,  for  thee.  Think  not  that  we  are  power- 
less, because  forbearing.  "We  have  a  decree, — though  it 
rests  among  our  archives  like  a  sword  in  its  scabbard, — a 
decree,  by  which  thy  life  would  be  made  to  pay  the  forfeit 
of  thy  crimes. 

And  should  I  order  thee  to  be  instantly  seized  and  put 
to  death,  I  make  just  doubt  whether  all  good  men  would 
not  think  it  done  rather  too  late,  than  any  man  too  cruelly. 
But,  for  good  reasons,  I  will  yet  defer  the  blow  long  since 
deserved.  Then  will  I  doom  thee,  when  no  man  is  found, 
so  lost,  so  wicked,  nay,  so  like  thyself,  but  shall  confess 
that  it  was  justly  dealt.  While  there  is  one  man  that 
dares  defend  thee,  live !  But  thou  shalt  live  so  beset,  so 
surrounded,  so  scrutinized,  by  the  vigilant  guards  that  I 
have  placed  around  thee,  that  thou  shalt  not  stir  a  foot 
against  the  Republic,  without  my  knowledge.  There  shall 
be  eyes  to  detect  thy  slightest  movement,  and  ears  to  catch 
thy  wariest  whisper,  of  which  thou  shalt  not  dream.  The 
darkness  of  night  shall  not  cover  thy  treason ;  the  walls 
NEW  Eo.  S.—  5 


50  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

of  privacy  shall  not  stifle  its  voice.  Proceed,  plot,  conspire 
as  thou  wilt.  There  is  nothing  you  can  contrive,  nothing 
you  can  propose,  nothing  you  can  attempt,  which  I  shall 
not  know,  hear,  and  promptly  understand. 

FROM  CICERO. 


V.— CATILINE'S  DEFIANCE. 
PLE-BE-IAN,  (ple-be'-yan,)  refers  to  Cicero,  the  Consul. 

CONSCRIPT  FATHERS! 

I  do  not  rise  to  waste  the  night  in  words; 
Let  that  Plebeian  talk ,    't  is  not  my  trade ; 
But  here  I  stand  for  right, — let  him  show  proofs, — 
For  Roman  right;    though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
To  take  their  share  with  me.     Ay,  cluster  there ! 
Cling  to  your  masters,  judges,  Romans,  slaves! 
His  charge  is  false.     I  dare  him  to  his  proofs. 
You  have  my  answer.     Let  my  actions  speak. 

But  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned, 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrong ! 
Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword, 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back, 
Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me ;    turning  out 
The  Roman  from  his  birthright;    and,  for  what? 

To  fling  your  offices  to  every  slave ! 
Vipers,  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb, 
And,  having  wound  their  loathsome  track  to  the  top, 
Of  this  huge,  moldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below ! 
Come,  consecrated  Lictors,  from  your  thrones; 
Fling  down  your  scepters;    take  the  rod  and  ax, 
And  make  the  murder  as  you  make  the  law! 

Banished  from  Rome !     What 's  banished,  but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe  ? 
"Tried  and  convicted  traitor!"     Who  says  this? 
Who  '11  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head  ? 
Banished!     I  thank  you  for  't.     It  breaks  my  chain! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour; 
But  now  my  sword  's  my  own. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  51 

Smile  on,  my  lords! 

I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up,         V  /^ 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you !    here,  I  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face ! 
Your  Consul  's  merciful.     For  this  all  thanks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline ! 

"Traitor!"     I  go;    but,  I  return.     This— trial! 
Here  I  devote  your  Senate !     Look  to  your  hearths,  my  lords ! 
For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods, 
Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus !    all  shames  and  crimes ! 
Wan  treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  ax, 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones ; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave. 

I  go ;    but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone. 
I  go ;    but,  when  I  come,  't  will  be  the  burst 
Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake ;    rolling  back 
In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.     Fare  you  well ! 
You  build  my  funeral-pile ;   but  your  best  blood 
Shall  quench  its  flame!  FROM  CROLY. 


VI.— EXPULSION  OF  CATILINE. 

AT  length,  Romans,  we  are  rid  of  Catiline!  We  have 
driven  him  forth,  drunk  with  fury,  breathing  mischief, 
threatening  to  revisit  us  with  fire  and  sword.  He  is  gone. 
He  is  fled.  He  has  escaped.  He  has  broken  away.  No 
longer,  within  the  very  walls  of  the  city,  shall  he  plot  her 
ruin.  We  have  forced  him  from  secret  plots  into  open 
rebellion.  The  bad  citizen  is  now  the  avowed  traitor. 
His  flight  is  the  confession  of  his  treason.  Would  that 
his  attendants  had  not  been  so  few. 

Be  speedy,  ye  companions  of  his  dissolute  pleasures. 
Be  speedy,  and  you  may  overtake  him  before  night,  on 
the  Aurelian  road.  Let  him  not  languish,  deprived  of 


52  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

your  society.  Haste  to  join  the  congenial  crew  that  com- 
pose his  army ;  7m  army,  I  say,  for  who  doubts  that  the 
army  under  Manlius  expect  Catiline  for  their  leader?  And 
such  an  army  !  Outcasts  from  honor,  and  fugitives  from 
debt;  gamblers  and  felons;  miscreants,  whose  dreams  are 
of  rapine,  murder,  and  conflagration  ! 

Against  these  gallant  troops  of  your  adversary,  prepare, 
O  Romans,  your  garrisons  and  armies.  And  first,  to  that 
maimed  and  battered  gladiator,  oppose  your  Consuls  and 
Generals.  Next,  against  that  miserable,  outcast  horde, 
lead  forth  the  strength  and  flower  of  all  Italy  !  On  the 
one  side  chastity  contends;  on  the  other,  wantonness: 
here  purity,  there  pollution  :  here  integrity,  there  treach- 
ery :  here  piety,  there  profaneness :  here  constancy,  there 
rage  :  here  honesty,  there  baseness :  in  short,  equity,  tem- 
perance, fortitude,  prudence,  struggle  with  iniquity,  luxury, 
cowardice,  rashness :  every  virtue  with  every  vice :  and, 
lastly,  the  contest  lies  between  well-grounded  hope  and 
absolute  despair.  In  such  a  conflict,  were  even  human  aid 
to  fail,  would  not  the  immortal  gods  empower  such  con- 
spicuous virtue  to  triumph  over  such  complicated  vice? 

FROM  CICERO. 


VII.— POWER  OF  A  FREE  PEOPLE. 

IN  the  efforts  of  the  people;  of  the  people  struggling  for 
their  rights;  moving,  not  in  organized,  disciplined  masses, 
but  in  their  spontaneous  action,  man  for  man,  and  heart  for 
heart;  there  is  something  glorious.  They  can  then  move 
forward  without  orders,  act  together  without  combination, 
and  brave  the  flaming  lines  of  battle  without  intrenchments 
to  cover  or  walls  to  shield  them.  No  dissolute  camp  has 
Worn  off  from  the  feelings  of  the  youthful  soldier  the  fresh- 
ness of  that  home,  where  his  mother  and  his  sisters  sit 
waiting,  with  tearful  eyes  and  aching  hearts,  to  hear  good 
news  from  the  wars.  No  long  service  in  the  ranks  of  a 
conqueror  has  turned  the  veteran's  heart  into  marble. 
Their  valor  springs  not  from  recklessness,  from  habit, 
from  indifference  to  the  preservation  of  a  life,  knit  by  no 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  53 

pledges  to  the  life  of  others.  In  the  strength  and  spirit 
of  the  CAUSE  alone,  they  act,  they  contend,  they  bleed.  In 
this  they  conquer. 

The  people  always  conquer.  They  always  must  conquer. 
Armies  may  be  defeated,  kings  may  be  overthrown,  and 
new  dynasties  imposed,  by  foreign  arms,  on  an  ignorant 
and  slavish  race,  that  care  not  in  what  language  the  cov- 
enant of  their  subjection  runs,  nor  in  whose  name  the 
deed  of  their  barter  and  sale  is  made  out.  But  the  people 
never  invade.  "When  they  rise  against  the  invader,  they 
are  never  subdued.  If  they  are  driven  from  the  plains, 
they  fly  to  the  mountains.  Steep  rocks  and  everlasting 
hills  are  their  castles;  the  tangled,  pathless  thicket,  their 
palisado;  and  nature,  God,  is  their  ally! 

Now,  He  overwhelms  the  hosts  of  their  enemies  beneath 
his  drifting  mountains  of  sand.  Now,  He  buries  them  be- 
neath a  falling  atmosphere  of  polar  snows.  He  lets  loose 
His  tempests  on  their  fleets.  He  puts  a  folly  into  their 
counsels,  a  madness  into  the  hearts  of  their  leaders.  He 
never  gave,  and  never  will  give,  a  final  triumph  over  a 
virtuous  and  gallant  people,  resolved  to  be  free. 

"  For  Freedom's  battle  once  begun, 
Bequeathed  from  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Though  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won." 

FROM  EVERETT. 


VIII.— TRUE  HONOR  OF  A  NATION. 

THE  great  distinction  of  a  Nation,  the  only  one  worth 
possessing',  and  which  brings  after  it  all  other  blessings,  is 
the  prevalence  of  pure  principle  among  the  citizens.  I 
wish  to  belong  to  a  state  in  the  character  and  institutions 
of  which  I  may  find  a  spring  of  improvement,  of  which  I 
can  speak  with  an  honest  pride ;  in  whose  records  I  may 
meet  great  and  honored  names,  and  which  is  fast  making 
the  world  its  debtor  by  its  discoveries  of  truth,  and  by  an 
example  of  virtuous  freedom. 

O,  save  me  from  a  country  which  worships  wealth,  and 
cares  not  for  true  glory :  in  which  intrigue  bears  rule :  in 


54  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

which  patriotism  borrows  its  zeal  from  the  prospect  of 
office  :  in  which  hungry  sycophants  throng  with  supplica- 
tion all  the  departments  of  state:  in  which  public  men 
bear  the  brand  of  private  vice,  and  the  seat  of  government 
is  a  noisome  sink  of  private  licentiousness  and  public  cor- 
ruption. 

Tell  me  not  of  the  honor  of  belonging  to  a  free  country. 
I  ask,  does  our  liberty  bear  generous  fruits?  Does  it  exalt 
us  in  manly  spirit,  in  public  virtue,  above  countries  trod- 
den under  foot  by  despotism?  Tell  me  not  of  the  extent 
of  our  country.  I  care  not  how  large  it  is,  if  it  multiply 
degenerate  men.  Speak  not  of  o'ur  prosperity.  Better  be 
one  of  a  poor  people,  plain  in  manners,  reverencing  God, 
and  respecting  themselves,  than  belong  to  a  rich  country, 
which  knows  no  higher  good  than  riches. 

Earnestly  do  I  desire  for  this  country,  that,  instead  of 
copying  Europe  with  an  undiscerning  servility,  it  may 
have  a  character  of  its  own,  corresponding  to  the  freedom 
and  equality  of  our  institutions.  One  Europe  is  enough. 
One  Paris  is  enough.  How  much  to  be  desired  is  it,  that, 
separated,  as  we  are,  from  the  Eastern  continent,  by  an 
ocean,  we  should  be  still  more  widely  separated  by  sim- 
plicity of  manners,  by  domestic  purity,  by  inward  piety, 
by  reverence  for  human  nature,  by  moral  independence, 
by  withstanding  the  subjection  to  fashion,  and  that  debili- 
tating sensuality,  which  characterize  the  most  civilized 
portions  of  the  Old  World!  Of  this  country,  I  may  say, 
with  peculiar  emphasis,  that  its  happiness  is  bound  up  in 
its  virtue! 


IX.— VISION  OF  LIBERTY. 

A  VISION  passed  upon  my  soul. 
As  I  was  gazing  up  to  heaven, 
As  in  the  early  hours  of  even; 
I  still  beheld  the  planets  roll, 
And  all  the  countless  sons  of  light 
Flame   from   the    broad    blue    arch,   and    guide    the 
moonless  night. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  55 

When,  lo,  upon  the  plain, 
Just  where  it  skirts  the  swelling  main, 
A  massive  castle,  far  and  high, 
In  towering  grandeur  broke  upon  my  eye. 
Proud  in  its  strength  and  years,  the  ponderous  pile 

Flung  up  its  time-defying  towers; 
Its  lofty  gates  seemed  scornfully  to  smile 
At  vain  assault  of  human  powers, 

And  threats  and  arms  deride. 
Its  gorgeous  carvings  of  heraldic  pride 
In  giant  masses  graced  the  walls  above, 

And  dungeons  yawned  below. 
Yet  ivy  there  and  moss  their  garlands  wove, 
Grave,  silent  chroniclers  of  Time's  protracted  flow. 

Bursting  on  my  steadfast  gaze, 

See,  within,  a  sudden  blaze! 
So  small  at  first,  the  zephyr's  slightest  swell, 

That  scarcely  stirs  the  pine-tree  top, 

Nor  makes  the  withered  leaf  to  drop, 
The  feeble  fluttering  of  that  flame  would  quell 

But  soon  it  spread; 
Waving,  rushing,  fierce,  and  red, 
From  wall  to  wall,  from  tower  to  tower. 
Raging  with  resistless  power; 
Till  every  fervent  pillar  glowed, 

And  every  stone  seemed  burning  coal, 
Instinct  with  living  heat,  that  flowed 

Like  streaming  radiance  from  the  kindled  pole. 

Beautiful,  fearful,  grand, 
Silent  as  death,  I  saw  the  fabric  stand. 
At  length  a  crackling  sound  began; 
From  side  to  side,  throughout  the  pile  it  ran; 

And  louder  yet,  and  louder  grew, 
Till  now  in  rattling  thunder-peals  it  flew; 
Huge  shivered  fragments  from  the  pillars  broke, 
Like  fiery  sparkles  from  the  anvil's  stroke: 
The  shattered  walls  were  rent  and  riven, 

And  piecemeal  driven, 

Like  blazing  comets  through  the  troubled  sky. 
'T  is  done;  what  centuries  had  reared, 
In  quick  explosion  disappeared, 
Nor  even  its  ruins  met  my  wondering  eye. 


56  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

But  in  their  place, 
Bright  with  more  than  human  grace, 

Robed  in  more  than  mortal  seeming, 
Radiant  glory  in  her  face, 

And  eyes  with  heaven's  own  brightness  beaming, 
Rose  a  fair  majestic  form, 
As  the  mild  rainbow  from  the  storm. 

J  marked  her  smile,  1  knew  her  eye; 

And  when,  with  gesture  of  command, 

She  waved  aloft  the  cap-crowned  wand, 
My  slumbers  fled  'mid  shouts  of  "LIBERTY!" 

Read  ye  the  dream  ?  and  know  ye  not 
How  truly  it  unlocked  the  word  of  fate? 

Went  not  the  flame  from  this  illustrious  spot, 
And  spreads  it  not,  and  burns  in  every  state? 
And  when  their  old  and  cumbrous  walls, 
Filled  with  this  spirit,  glow  intense, 
Vainly  they  rear  their  impotent  defense ; 

The  fabric  falls! 

That  fervent  energy  must  spread, 
Till  despotism's  towers  be  overthrown; 
And  in  their  stead, 
LIBERTY  stands  alone. 


X.— THE  GREEK  WARRIOR. 

OUR  free  flag  is  dancing 

In  the  free  mountain  air, 
And  burnished  arms  are  glancing, 

And  warriors  gathering  there; 
And  fearless  is  the  little  train 

Whose  gallant  bosoms  shield  it; 
The  blood  that  warms  their  hearts  shall  stain 

That  banner,  ere  they  yield  it. 
Each  dark  eye  is  fixed  on  earth, 

And  brief  each  solemn  greeting; 
There  is  no  look  nor  sound  of  mirth, 

Where  those  stern  men  are  meeting. 

They  go  to  the  slaughter, 

To  strike  the  sudden  blow, 
And  pour  on  earth,  like  water, 

The  best  blood  of  the  foe; 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  5? 

To  rush  on  them  from  rock  and  hight, 

And  clear  the  narrow  valley, 
Or  fire  their  camp  at  dead  of  night, 

And  fly  before  they  rally. 
Chains  are  round  our  country  pressed, 

And  cowards  have  betrayed  her; 
And  we  must  make  her  bleeding  breast 

The  grave  of  the  invader. 

Not  till  from  her  fetters 

We  raise  up  Greece  again, 
And  write,  in  bloody  letters, 

That  tyranny  is  slain; 
Oh!  not  till  then  the  smile  shall  steal 

Across  those  darkened  faces, 
Nor  one  of  all  those  warriors  feel 

His  children's  dear  embraces. 
Reap  we  not  the  ripened  wheat, 

Till  yonder  hosts  are  flying, 
And  all  their  bravest,  at  our  feet, 

Like  autumn  sheaves  are  lying. 
FROM  BRYANT. 


XL— MUSIC  OF  INDUSTRY. 

THE  banging  of  the  hammer, 

The  whirling  of  the  plane, 
The  crashing  of  the  busy  saw, 

The  creaking  of  the  crane, 
The  ringing  of  the  anvil. 

The  grating  of  the  drill, 
The  clattering  of  the  turning-latho, 

The  whirling  of  the  mill, 
The  buzzing  of  the  spindle, 

The  rattling  of  the  loom, 
The  puffing  of  the  engine, 

The  fan's  continual  boom, 
The  clipping  of  the  tailor's  shears, 

The  driving  of  the  awl; 
The  sounds  of  honest  Industry, 

I  love,  I  love  them  all. 

The  clicking  of  the  magic  type, 
The  earnest  talk  of  men, 


53  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

The  toiling  of  the  giant  press, 

The  scratching  of  the  pen, 
The  tapping  of  the  yard-stick, 

The  tinkling  of  the  scales, 
The  whistling  of  the  needle, 

(When  no  bright  cheek  it  pales,) 
The  humming  of  the  cooking-stove, 

The  surging  of  the  broom, 
The  pattering  feet  of  childhood, 

The  housewife's  busy  hum, 
The  buzzing  of  the  scholars, 

The  teacher's  kindly  call: 
These  sounds  of  active  Industry, 

I  love,  I  love  them  all. 

I  love  the  plowman's  whistle, 

The  reaper's  cheerful  song, 
The  drover's  oft-repeated  shout, 

Spurring  his  stock  along; 
The  bustle  of  the  market  man 

As  he  hies  him  to  the  town; 
The  halloo  from  the  tree-top 

As  the  ripened  fruit  comes  down; 
The  busy  sound  of  thrashers 

As  they  clean  the  ripened  grain; 
The  husker's  joke  and  catch  of  glee 

'Neath  the  moonlight  on  the  plain; 
The  kind  voice  of  the  drayman, 

The  shepherd's  gentle  call: 
These  sounds  of  pleasant  Industry, 

I  love,  I  love  them  all. 

Oh,  there  's  a  good  in  labor, 

If  we  labor  but  aright, 
That  gives  vigor  to  the  daytime, 

A  sweeter  sleep  at  night; 
A  good  that  bringeth  pleasure, 

Even  to  the  toiling  hours; 
For  duty  cheers  the  spirit, 

As  dew  revives  the  flowers. 

Then  say  not  that  Jehovah 
Gave  labor  as  a  doom; 

No!  't  is  the  richest  mercy 
From  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  59 

Then  let  us  still  be  doing 

What  e'er  we  find  to  do, 
With  a  cheerful,  hopeful  spirit, 

And  free  hand,  strong  and  true. 


XII.— AAEON  BURR. 

IF  Blennerhassett  had  been  the  only  person  ruined  by 
Burr,  charity  would  suggest  a  burial  of  our  remembrance 
of  the  exile's  desolation.  But  the  victims  of  Burr  are  to 
be  numbered  by  hundreds.  He  cherished  no  friendship. 
He  returned  unhonored  the  drafts  of  gratitude. 

He  courted  the  statesman,  to  profit  by  his  influence,  the 
millionaire,  to  obtain  his  money,  and  the  world,  to  gratify 
his  desires.  He  was  the  more  dangerous  from  the  posses- 
sion of  an  intellect,  massive,  piercing,  and  brilliant,  united 
to  a  form,  at  once  handsome  and  vigorous.  His  mind  was 
but  the  keen  weapon  with  which  he  hewed  a  path  to  con- 
quest. That  weapon  was  Protean.  If  the  victim  fully  came 
under  the  gaze  of  an  eye  whose  sharp  light  resembled  light- 
ning, imprisoned  and  forever  playing  in  a  cloud  black  as 
death,  he  was  forever  lost. 

Burr's  conversation  was  irresistibly  fascinating,  for  his 
hands  swept  every  chord  of  the  human  heart.  He  strewed 
the  rosy  paths  of  the  happy  with  flowers  of  a  still  brighter 
hue.  He  arched  the  troubled  sky  of  the  desponding  with 
the  rainbow  of  hope.  He  conjured  up  before  the  rapt 
vision  of  the  avaricious,  golden  Golcondas;  and  to  the 
aspiring,  he  pointed  out  the  illuminated  vistas  of  glory. 

Thus  he  stood:  gifted  and  unprincipled;  ruthless  and 
terrible.  The  want  of  great  fortune,  alone,  prevented  his 
presenting,  in  one  vast  Alpine  mass,  that  EVIL  which  he 
accomplished,  but  too  successfully,  in  many  details.  Chance 
confined  to  valleys,  comparatively  humble,  the  stupendous 
glaciers  which  only  needed  the  rays  of  the  sun  of  fortune 
to  devastate  continents. 

It  may  be  asked:  "Is  not  his  valor  on  the  battlefields 
of  his  country  to  be  remembered?"  Yes!  That  was  a 
redeeming  thing.  No  matter  from  what  motive  his  mill- 


GO  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

tary  talents  were  exercised,  our  land  reaped  some  benefit. 
But  \ve  are  forced  to  doubt  the  patriotism  of  one  who  was 
so  ready  to  forswear  his  allegiance;  who  trampled  on  so 
much  that  men  hold  sacred,  and  who  regarded  his  exploits 
against  royal  tyranny,  less  glorious  than  the  moral  destruc- 
tion of  a  human  being. 

Age  is  expected  to  subdue.  But  with  Burr,  the  winter 
of  time  brought  no  snow  to  cool  the  lava  of  passion.  At 
fourscore-and-six,  the  crater  wore  a  glow  as  ardent  as  at 
twenty.  His  faculties  mocked  at  a  century.  Age  should 
bring  the  soothing  calm  of  religion,  to  prepare  the  tem- 
pest-tost bark  for  its  entrance  into  another  and  final  sea. 
Burr  died  as  he  had  lived,  a  practical  Atheist.  Age  should 
bring  respect.  Burr  expired  as  he  had  existed,  without  the 
regard  of  the  good.  His  hoary  hairs  went  down  to  the 
grave,  floating  on  the  breeze  of  infamy. 

In  cunning,  an  lago;  in  patience,  a  Catiline  ;  in  pleasure, 
a  Sybarite;  in  gratitude,  a  Malay;  and  in  ambition,  a  Na- 
poleon, he  affords  the  world  an  awful  example  of  powerful 
intellect,  destitute  of  virtue.  His  virtue  would  fitly  appear 
in  a  circle  of  Dante's  Inferno.  Let  no  one  accuse  the 
speaker  of  stepping  with  sandaled  feet  through  the  solemn 
sepulcher.  Aaron  Burr  belongs  to  History.  SUCH  WAS 

THE    LOT    HE    CHOSE. 


XIII.— DEATH  OF  HAMILTON— No.  I. 

HAMILTON,  a  distinguished  American  statesman,  -was  killed  in 
1804,  in  a  duel,  into  which  he  was  forced  by  Aaron  Burr,  his  polit- 
ical enemy. 

HAMILTON  was  born  to  be  great.  Whoever  was  second, 
he  must  be  first.  To  his  stupendous  and  versatile  mind  no 
investigation  was  difficult.  There  was  no  subject,  which  he 
did  not  illuminate.  Superiority  in  some  particular,  belongs 
to  thousands.  Pre-eminence,  in  whatever  he  chose  to  un- 
dertake, was  the  prerogative  of  Hamilton.  No  fixed  crite- 
rion could  be  applied  to  his  talents.  Often  has  their  dis- 
play been  supposed  to  have  reached  the  limit  of  human 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  61 

effort;  and  the  judgment  stood  firm  till  set  aside  by  him- 
self. 

When  a  cause  of  new  magnitude  required  new  exertions, 
he  rose,  he  towered,  he  soared ;  surpassing  himself  as  he 
surpassed  others.  Then  was  nature  tributary  to  his  elo- 
quence !  Then  was  felt  his  despotism  over  the  heart ! 
Touching,  at  his  pleasure,  every  string  of  pity  or  terror, 
of  indignation  or  grief,  he  melted,  he  soothed,  he  roused, 
he  agitated  ;  alternately  gentle  as  the  dews,  and  awful  as  the 
thunder.  Yet,  great  as  he  was  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
he  was  greater  in  the  eyes  of  those  with  whom  he  was 
most  conversant. 

The  greatness  of  most  men,  like  objects  seen  through  a 
mist,  diminishes  with  the  distance.  But  Hamilton,  like  a 
tower  seen  afar  off  under  a  clear  sky,  rose  in  grandeur  and 
sublimity  with  every  step  of  approach.  Familiarity  with 
him  was  the  parent  of  veneration.  Over  these  matchless 
talents,  probity  threw  her  brightest  luster.  Frankness, 
suavity,  tenderness,  benevolence,  breathed  through  their 
exercise.  But  he  is  gone.  That  noble  heart  beats  no 
more  :  that  eye  of  fire  is  dimmed ;  and  sealed  are  those  ora- 
cular lips.  Americans,  the  serenest  beam  of  your  glory  is 
extinguished  in  the  tomb ! 

The  death  of  Hamilton  is  no  common  affliction.  The 
loss  of  distinguished  men  is,  at  all  times,  a  calamity.  But 
the  loss  of  such  a  man,  at  such  a  time,  and  in  the  very 
meridian  of  his  usefulness,  is  singularly  portentous.  When 
Washington  was  taken,  Hamilton  was  left.  But  Hamilton 
is  taken,  and  we  have  no  Washington.  We  have  no  such 
other  man  to  die  !  Washington  and  Hamilton  in  five  years! 
Bereaved  America !  FROM  MASON. 


XIV.— DEATH  OF  HAMILTON.— No.  H. 

THE  grave  of  Hamilton  speaks.  It  charges  me  to  remind 
you  that  he  fell  a  victim,  not  to  disease  or  accident,  not  to 
the  fortune  of  a  glorious  warfare ;  but— how  shall  I  utter 
it? — to  a  custom  which  has  no  origin  but  superstition,  no 


62  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

aliment  but  depravity,  no  reason  but  in  madness.  Alas  ! 
that  he  should  thus  expose  his  precious  life.  This  was  his 
error!  A  thousand  bursting  hearts  reiterate  this.  This 
was  his  error!  Shall  I  apologize?  I  am  forbidden  by  his 
living  protestations,  by  his  dying  regrets,  by  his  wasted 
blood.  Shall  a  solitary  act,  into  which  he  was  betrayed 
and  dragged,  have  the  authority  of  a  precedent?  The  plea 
is  precluded  by  the  long  decisions  of  his  understanding, 
by  the  principles  of  his  conscience,  and  by  the  reluctance 
of  his  death. 

Ah!  when  will  our  morals  be  purified,  and  our  imagi- 
nary honor  cease  to  cover  the  most  pestilent  of  human  pas- 
sions ?  Is  it  honor  to  enjoy  the  esteem  of  the  wise  and  the 
good?  The  wise  and  the  good  turn  with  disgust  from  the 
man  who  lawlessly  aims  at  his  neighbor's  life.  Is  it  hon- 
orable to  serve  your  country?  The  man  cruelly  injures 
her,  who,  from  private  pique,  calls  his  fellow  citizen  into 
the  dubious  field.  Are  generosity,  humanity,  sympathy, 
honorable?  That  man  is  superlatively  base,  who  mingles 
the  tears  of  the  widow  and  orphan  with  the  blood  of  a 
husband  and  a  father. 

Do  refinement,  and  courtesy,  and  benignity,  entwine  with 
the  laurels  of  the  brave  ?  The  blot  is  yet  to  be  wiped  from 
his  name,  who  can  not  treat  his  brother  with  the  decorum 
of  a  gentleman,  unless  the  pistol  or  the  dagger  be  every 
moment  at  his  heart.  Let  the  votaries  of  honor  now 
look  at  their  deeds.  Let  them  compare  their  doctrine  with 
this  horrible  comment.  Ah!  what  avails  it  to  a  distracted 
nation,  that  Hamilton  was  murdered  for  a  punctilio  of 
honor  ? 

My  flesh  shivers  !  Is  this,  indeed,  our  state  of  society? 
Are  transcendent  worth  and  talent  to  be  a  capital  indict- 
ment before  the  tribunal  of  ambition?  Is  the  angel  of 
death  to  record,  for  sanguinary  retribution,  every  word 
which  the  collision  of  political  opinion  may  extort  from  a 
political  man  ?  Are  integrity  and  candor  to  be  at  the 
mercy  of  the  assassin,  and  systematic  crime  to  trample 
under  foot,  or  smite  into  the  grave,  all  that  is  yet  venerable 
in  our  humble  land? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  63 

My  countrymen,  the  land  is  defiled  with  blood  unright- 
eously shed !  Its  cry,  disregarded  on  earth,  has  gone  up 
to  the  throne  of  God,  and  this  day  does  our  punishment 
reveal  our  sin  !  'T  is  time  for  us  to  awake  !  The  voice  of 
moral  virtue,  the  voice  of  domestic  alarm,  the  voice  of  the 
fatherless  and  widow,  the  voice  of  a  nation's  wrong,  the 
voice  of  Hamilton's  blood,  the  voice  of  impending  judg- 
ment, call  for  a  remedy.  FROM  MASON. 


XV.— THE  GAMBLER'S  WIFE. 

DARK  is  the  night.     How  dark !     No  light !     No  fire  ! 
Cold  on  the  hearth  the  last  faint  sparks  expire! 
Shivering,  she  watches  by  the  cradle  side, 
For  him  who  pledged  her  love ;  last  year  a  bride ! 

''Hark!     'T  is  his  footstep !     No!     'T  is  past!     'T  is  gone !" 
Tick !     Tick !     "  How  wearily  the  time  crawls  on  ! 
Why  should  he  leave  me  thus?     He  once  was  kind! 
And  I  believed  't  would  last !     How  mad !     How  blind  ! 

"  Rest  thee,  my  babe  !     Rest  on  !     'T  is  hunger's  cry ! 
Sleep !     For  there  is  no  food !     The  fount  is  dry ! 
Famine  and  cold  their  wearying  work  have  done; 
My  heart  must  break!     And  thou!"     The  clock  strikes  one. 

"Hush!  't  is  the  dice-box!     Yes,  he  's  there!  he  's  there! 
For  this,  for  this,  he  leaves  me  to  despair! 
Leaves  love,  leaves  truth,  his  wife,  his  child,  for  what? 
The  wanton's  smile,  the  villain,  and  the  sot! 

"  Yet  I  '11  not  curse  him.     No !     'T  is  all  in  vain  I 

'T  is  long  to  wait,  but  sure  he  '11  come  again! 

And  I  could  starve,  and  bless  him,  but  for  you, 

My  child !     My  child !     Oh  fiend !"     The  clock  strikes  two. 

"Hark!     How  the  sign-board  creaks!     The  blast  howls  by. 
Moan !  moan !     A  dirge  swells  through  the  cloudy  sky  ! 
Ha !     'T  is  his  knock !     He  comes,  he  comes  once  more  !" 
'T  is  but  the  lattice  flaps!     Thy  hope  is  o'er! 

"  Can  he  desert  us  thus  ?     He  knows  I  stay, 
Night  after  night,  in  loneliness,  to  pray 
For  his  return ;  and  yet  he  sees  no  tear ! 
No !     No !     It  can  not  be !     He  will  be  here ! 


64  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

"Nestle  more  closely,  dear  one,  to  my  heart! 

Thou  'rt  cold!     Thou  'rt  freezing!     But  we  will  not  part! 

Husband !     I  die !     Father !     It  is  not  he ! 

Oh,  God!  protect  my  child!"     The  clock  strikes  three. 

They're  gone,  they're  gone!   The  glimmering  spark  hath  fledl 
The  wife  and  child  are  numbered  with  the  dead. 
The  gambler  came  at  last;  but  all  was  o'er; 
Dread  silence  reigned  around.     The  clock  struck  four. 

FROM  COAXES. 


XVI.— LOOK  ALOFT. 

IN  the  tempest  of  life,  when  the  wave  and  the  gale 
Are  around  and  above,  if  thy  footing  should  fail; 
If  thine  eye  should  grow  dim,  and  thy  caution  depart; 
"Look  aloft,"  and  be  firm,  and  be  fearless  of  heart. 

If  the  friend  who  embraced  in  prosperity's  glow, 
With  a  smile  for  each  joy,  and  a  tear  for  each  woe^1 
Should  betray  thee  when  sorrows  like  clouds  are  arrayed; 
"Look  aloft,"  to  the  friendship  which  never  shall  fade. 

Should  the  visions  which  hope  spreads  in  light  to  thine  eye, 
Like  the  tints  of  the  rainbow,  but  brighten  to  fly ; 
Then  turn,  and,  through  tears  of  repentant  regret, 
"Look  aloft"  to  the  sun  that  is  never  to  set. 

Should  they  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  thy  heart; 
Thy  relations  and  friends,  in  sorrow  depart; 
"  Look  aloft,"  from  the  darkness  and  dust  of  the  tomb, 
To  that  soil  where  affection  is  ever  in  bloom. 

And  O,  when  Death  comes  in  terrors,  to  cast 

His  fears  on  the  future,  his  pall  on  the  past; 

In  that  moment  of  darkness,  with  hope  in  thy  heart, 

And  a  smile  in  thine  eye,  "  look  aloft,"  and  depart 


XVII.— THE  DUEL.— SCENE  I. 

(Enter  Sir  Lucius  O  Trigger  and  Acres.) 
Sir  Lucius.     Mr.  Acres,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you. 
Acres.     My  dear  Sir  Lucius,  I  kiss  your  hands. 
Sir  L.     Pray,  ray  friend,  what  has  brought  you  so  sud- 
denly to  Bath? 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  65 

Acres.  Faith,  I  have  followed  Cupid's  jack-o'-lantern, 
and  find  myself  in  a  quagmire  at  last!  In  short,  I  have 
been  very  ill-used,  Sir  Lucius.  I  do  n't  choose  to  mention 
names,  but  look  on  me  as  a  very  ill-used  gentleman. 

Sir  L.     Pray,  what  is  the  cause?     I  ask  no  names. 

Acres.  Mark  me,  Sir  Lucius.  I  fall  as  deep  as  need  be, 
in  love  with  a  young  lady ;  her  friends  take  my  part ;  I 
follow  her  to  Bath  ;  send  word  of  my  arrival ;  and  receive 
answer,  that  the  lady  is  to  be  otherwise  disposed  of.  This, 
Sir  Lucius,  I  call  being  ill-used. 

Sir  L.  Very  ill,  upon  my  conscience  !  Pray,  can  you 
divine  the  cause  of  it? 

Acres.  Why,  there  's  the  matter.  She  has  another  lover, 
one  Beverley,  who,  I  am  told,  is  now  in  Bath.  He  must 
be  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

Sir  L.  A  rival  in  the  case,  is  there  ?  And  you  think 
he  has  supplanted  you  unfairly? 

Acres.  Unfairly !  To  be  sure  he  has.  He  never  could 
have  done  it  fairly. 

Sir  L.     Then  sure  you  know  what  is  to  be  done  ? 

Acres.     Not  I,  upon  my  soul ! 

Sir  L.     We  wear  no  swords  here,  but  you  understand  me? 

Acres.     What !  fight  ,him  ? 

Sir  L.     Ay,  to  be  sure.     What  can  I  mean  else  ? 

Acres.     But  he  has  given  me  no  provocation. 

Sir  L.  Now,  I  think  he  has  given  you  the  greatest  pro- 
vocation in  the  world.  Can  a  man  commit  a  more  heinous 
offense  against  another,  than  to  fall  in  love  with  the  same 
woman  ?  Upon  my  word,  it  is  the  most  unpardonable 
breach  of  friendship. 

Acres.  Breach  of  friendship  !  Ay,  ay.  But  I  have  no 
acquaintance  with  this  man.  I  never  saw  him  in  all  my 
life. 

Sir  L.  That 's  no  argument  at  all ;  he  has  the  less  right, 
then,  to  take  such  a  liberty. 

Acres.     That 's  true.     I  grow  full  of  anger,  Sir  Lucius ! 
I  fire  apace.     Hilts  and  blades  !     I  find  a  man  may  have 
a  deal  of  valor  in  him,  and  not  know  it!     But.  could  n't  I 
contrive  to  have  a  little  right  on  my  side? 
NEW  EC.  S.— 6 


66  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

-  Sir  L.  What  signifies  right,  when  your  honor  is  con- 
cerned ?  Do  you  think  Achilles,  or  my  little  Alexander 
the  Great,  ever  inquired  where  the  right  lay  ?  No,  by  my 
word,  they  drew  their  broadswords,  and  left  the  lazy  sons 
of  peace  to  settle  the  justice  of  it. 

Acres.  Your  words  are  a  grenadier's  march  to  my  heart ! 
I  believe  courage  must  be  catching !  I  certainly  do  feel  a 
kind  of  valor  arising,  as  it  were  ;  a  kind  of  courage,  as  I 
may  say.  Flints,  pans,  and  triggers !  I  '11  challenge  him 
directly. 

Sir  L.  Ah,  my  friend  !  if  we  had  Blunderbuss  Hall 
here,  I  could  show  you  a  range  of  ancestry,  in  the  O'Trig- 
ger  line,  that  would  furnish  the  New  Room.  For,  though 
the  Mansion  House  and  dirty  acres  have  slipped  tbrough 
my  fingers,  I  thank  heaven,  our  honor  and  the  family  pic- 
tures are  as  fresh  as  ever. 

Acres,  Oh,  Sir  Lucius,  I  have  had  ancestors,  too ! 
Every  man  of  them  colonel  or  captain  in  the  militia ! 
Balls  and  barrels  !  say  no  more.  I  'm  braced  for  it.  The 
thunder  of  your  words  has  soured  the  milk  of  human  kind- 
ness in  my  breast!  Zounds!  as  the  man  in  the  play  says, 
"I  could  do  such  deeds" — 

Sir  L.  Come,  come,  there  must  be  no  passion  at  all  in 
the  case.  These  things  should  always  be  done  civilly. 

Acres.  I  must  be  in  a  passion,  Sir  Lucius.  I  must  be 
in  a  rage.  Dear  Sir  Lucius,  let  me  be  in  a  rage,  if  you 
love  me.  Come,  here  's  pen  and  paper.  (Sits.)  I  would 
the  ink  were  red !  Indite,  I  say,  indite  !  How  shall  I 
begin  ?  Odds  bullets  and  blades  !  I  '11  write  a  good  bold 
hand,  however. 

Sir  L.     Pray,  compose  yourself.     (Sits  down.) 

Acres.  Come,  now,  shall  I  begin  with  an  oath?  Do,  Sir 
Lucius,  let  me  begin  with  an  oath ! 

Sir  L.  Pho  !  pho !  do  the  thing  decently,  and  like  a 
Christian.  Begin  now — "Sir,"— 

Acres.     That  's  too  civil,  by  half. 

Sir  L.     "To  prevent  the  confusion  that  might  arise" — 

Acres.     Well. 

Sir  L.     "  From  our  both  addressing  the  same  lady  " — 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  67 

Acres.  Ay — "both  addressing  the  same  lady" — there  's 
the  reason — "  same  lady."  Well. 

Sir  L.     "I  shall  expect  the  honor  of  your  company" — 

Acres.     Why,  I  'm  not  asking  him  to  dinner  ! 

Sir  L.     Pray,  be  easy. 

Acres.  Well,  then,  "  honor  of  your  company."  Does 
company  begin  with  a  C  or  a  K? 

Sir  L.     "To  settle  our  pretensions" — 

Acres.     Well. 

Sir  L.  Let  me  see — ay,  King's  Mead-fields  will  do — "in 
King's  Mead-fields."  . 

Acres.  So,  that 's  done.  Well,  I  '11  fold  it  up  at  once. 
My  own  crest,  a  hand  and  dagger,  shall  be  the  seal. 

Sir  L.  You  see,  now,  this  little  explanation  will  put  a 
stop,  at  once,  to  all  cpufusion  or  misunderstanding  that 
might  arise  between  you. 

Acres.     Ay,  we  fight  to  prevent  any  misunderstanding. 

Sir  L.  Now,  I  '11  leave  you  to  fix  your  own  time.  Take 
my  advice,  and  you  '11  decide  it  this  evening,  if  you  can. 
Then,  let  the  worst  come  of  it,  't  will  be  off  your  mind  "to- 
morrow. 

Acres.     Very  true. 

Sir  L.  So  I  shall  see  nothing  more  of  you,  unless  it  be 
by  letter,  till  the  evening.  I  would  do  myself  the  honor 
to  carry  your  message ;  but,  to  tell  you  a  secret,  I  believe 
I  shall  have  just  such  an  other  affair  on  my  own  hands. 
There  is  a  gay  captain  here  who  put  a  jest  on  me  lately  at 
the  expense  of  my  country,  and  I  only  want  to  fall  in  with 
the  gentleman,  to  call  him  out. 

Acres.  By  my  valor,  I  should  like  to  see  you  fight  first ! 
Odds  life,  I  should  like  to  see  you  kill  him,  if  it  was  only 
to  get  a  little  lesson  ! 

Sir  L.  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  instructing  you.  Re- 
member now,  when  you  meet  your  antagonist,  do  every 
thing  in  a  mild  and  agreeable  manner.  Let  your  courage 
be  as  keen,  but  at  the  same  time  as  polished  as  your 
sword.  (Exeunt.}  FIJOM  SHERIDAN. 


68  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

XVIII.— THE  DUEL.— SCENE  II. 

(Enter  Acres  and  his  servant  David.) 

David.  Then,  indeed,  sir,  I  would  do  no  such  thing  ! 
ne'er  a  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  in  the  kingdom  should  make 
me  fight,  when  I  was  n't  so  minded.  What  will  the  old 
lady  say,  when  she  hears  on  't? 

Acres.  But  my  honor,  David,  my  honor!  I  must  be 
very  careful  of  my  honor. 

Dav.  Ay,  and  I  would  be  very  careful  of  it,  and  I  think 
in  return,  my  honor  could  n't  do  less  than  to  be  veryjjiare- 
ful  of  me. 

Acres.  David,  no  gentleman  will  ever  risk  the  loss  of 
his  honor! 

Dav.  I  say,  then,  it  would  be  but  civil  in  honor  never 
to  risk  the  loss  of  a  gentleman.  Look  ye,  master,  this 
honor  seems  to  me  to  be  a  marvelous  false  friend  ;  ay, 
truly,  a  very  courtier-like  servant.  Put  the  case.  I  was  a 
gentleman,  (which,  thank  heaven,  no  one  can  say  of  me  ;) 
well,  my  honor  makes  me  quarrel  with  another  gentleman 
of  my  acquaintance.  So,  we  fight.  (Pleasant  enough 
that.)  Boh !  I  kill  him — (the  more  's  my  luck.)  Now, 
pray,  who  gets  the  profit  of  it?  Why,  my  honor.  But 
put  the  case,  that  he  kills  me !  I  go  to  the  worms,  and 
my  honor  whips  over  to  my  enemy. 

Acres.  No,  David,  in  that  case,  your  honor  follows  you 
to  the  grave ! 

Dav.  Now,  that's  just  the  place  where  I  could  make  a 
shift  to  do  without  it. 

Acres.  David,  you  are  a  coward !  It  does  n't  become 
my  valor  to  listen  to  you.  What,  shall  I  disgrace  my  an- 
cestors? Think  of  that,  David;  think  what  it  would  be  to 
disgrace  my  ancestors ! 

Dav.  Under  favor,  the  surest  way  of  not  disgracing 
them,  is  to  keep  as  long  as  you  can  out  of  their  company. 
Look  ye,  now,  master;  to  go  to  them  in  such  haste,  with 
an  ounce  of  lead  in  your  brains,  I  should  think  it  might 
as  well  be  let  alone.  Our  ancestors  are  very  good  kind  of 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  69 

folks ;  but  they  are  the  last  people  I  should  choose  to  have 
a  visiting  acquaintance  with. 

Acres.  But,  David,  now,  you  do  n't  think  there  is  such 
very — very — great  danger,  hey  ?  People  often  fight  without 
any  mischief  done ! 

Dav.  I  think  't  is  ten  to  one  against  you !  To  meet 
some  lion^headed  fellow,  I  warrant,  with  his  villainous 
double-barreled  swords  and  cut-and-thrust  pistols !  It 
makes  me  tremble  to  think  on  't ;  those  be  such  desperate, 
bloody-minded  weapons !  Well,  I  never  could  abide  them. 
From  a  child  I  never  could  fancy  them.  I  suppose  there 
aint  been  so  merciless  a  beast  in  the  world,  as  your  loaded 
pistol. 

Acres.  Hush!  I  won't  be  afraid!  You  shan't  make  me 
afraid.  Here  is  the  challenge,  and  I  have  sent  for  my  dear 
friend,  Jack  Absolute,  to  carry  it  for  me. 

Dav.  Ay,  in  the  name  of  mischief,  let  him  be  the  mes- 
senger. For  my  part,  I  would  n't  lend  a  hand  to  it,  for  the 
best  horse  in  your  stable.  It  do  n't  look  like  another  let- 
ter !  It  is,  as  I  may  say,  a  designing  and  malicious-look- 
ing letter!  and  I  warrant  smells  of  gunpowder,  like  a  sol- 
dier's pouch  !  I  would  n't  swear  it  mayn't  go  off! 

Acres.  Out,  you  poltroon !  You  have  n't  the  valor  of  a 
grasshopper. 

Dav.  AVell,  I  say  no  more.  'T  will  be  sad  news,  to  be 
sure,  at  Clod  Hall!  but  I  ha'  done.  How  Phyllis  will 
howl  when  she  hears  of  it !  Ay,  poor  thing,  she  little 
thinks  what  shooting  her  master  's  going  after!  And  I 
warrant  old  Crop,  who  has  carried  your  honor,  field  and 
road,  these  ten  years,  will  curse  the  hour  he  was  born  ! 
(  Whimpering.} 

Acres.  It  won't  do,  David;  I  am  determined  to  fight,  so 
get  along,  you  coward,  while  I  'm  in  the  mind.  (Exeunt?) 

FEOM  SHERIDAN. 


-' 


-, 


70  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

XIX.— THE  DUEL.— SCENE  III. 

(Enter  Sir  Lucius  and  Acres,  with  pistols.) 

Acres.  By  my  valor,  then,  Sir  Lucius,  forty  yards  is  a 
good  distance.  I  say  it  is  good  distance. 

Sir  L.  It  is,  for  muskets,  or  small  fieldpieces.  Upon 
my  conscience,  Mr.  Acres,  you  must  leave  these  things  to 
me.  Stay,  now,  I  '11  show  you.  (^Measures  paces  along  the 
stage.)  There,  now,  that  is  a  very  pretty  distance ;  a  pretty 
gentleman's  distance.  J 

Acres.  Why,  we  might  as  well  fight  in  a  sentry-box  ! 
I  tell  you,  Sir  Lucius,  the  farther  he  is  off,  the  cooler  I 
shall  take  my  aim. 

Sir  L.  Faith,  then,  I  suppose  you  would  aim  at  him 
best  of  all,  if  he  were  out  of  sight ! 

Acres.  No,  Sir  Lucius,  but  I  should  think  forty,  or 
eight-and-thirty  yards — 

Sir  L.  Pho  !  pho !  nonsense  !  three  or  four  feet  be- 
tween the  mouths  of  your  pistols,  is  as  good  as  a  mile. 

Acres.  Bullets,  no  !  by  my  valor,  there  is  no  merit  in 
killing  him  so  near !  Do,  my  dear  Sir  Lucius,  let  me  bring 
him  down  at  a  long  shot ;  a  long  shot,  Sir  Lucius,  if  you 
love  me ! 

Sir  L.  Well,  the  gentleman's  friend  and  I  must  settle 
that.  But  tell  me,  now,  Mr.  Acres,  in  case  of  an  accident, 
is  there  any  little  will  or  commission  I  could  execute  for 
you? 

Acres.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Sir  Lucius,  but  I 
do  n't  understand — 

Sir  L.  Why,  you  may  think  there  's  no  being  shot  at 
without  a  little  risk;  and,  if  an  unlucky  bullet  should  carry 
a  quietus  with  it,  I  say  it  will  be  no  time  then  to  be  both- 
ering you  about  family  matters. 

Acres.     A  quietus  ! 

Sir  L.  For  instance,  now,  if  that  should  be  the  case, 
would  you  choose  to  be  pickled  and  sent  home  ?  Or  would 
it  be  the  same  thing  to  you,  to  lie  here  in  the  Abbey? 
I  'm  told  there  's  very  snug  lying  in  the  Abbey. 

Acres.  Pickled?  snug  lying  in  the  Abbey?  Odds  trem- 
ors! Sir  Lucius,  do  n't  talk  so  ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  71 

Sir  L.  I  suppose,  Mr.  Acres,  you  never  were  engaged 
in  an  affair  of  this  kind  before? 

Acres.     No,  Sir  Lucius,  never  before. 

Sir  L.  Ah,  that 's  a  pity.  There  's  nothing  like  being 
used  to  a  thing.  Pray,  now,  how  would  you  receive  the 
gentleman's  shot? 

Acres.  I  've  practiced  that ;  there,  Sir  Lucius,  there. 
(Puts  himself  into  an  attitude.}  A  side-front,  hey  ?  I  '11 
make  myself  small  enough.  I  '11  stand  edgeways. 

tSir  L,  Now,  you  're  quite  out ;  for,  if  you  stand  so 
when  I  take  my  aim —  (Leveling  at  him.} 

Acres.     Stop,  Sir  Lucius!  are  you  sure  it  is  not  cocked? 

Sir  L.     Never  fear. 

Acres.  But,  but,  you  do  n't  know,  it  may  go  off  of  its 
own  head ! 

Sir  L.  Pho !  be  easy.  Well,  now,  if  I  hit  you  in  the 
body,  my  bullet  has  a  double  chance;  for  if  it  misses  a 
vital  part  on  your  right  side,  't  will  be  very  hard  if  it  do  n't 
succeed  on  the  left. 

Acres.     A  vital  part ! 

Sir  L.  But  there,  fix  yourself  so ;  (placing  him) — let 
him  see  the  broadside  of  your  full  front ;  there !  now  a  ball 
or  two  may  pass  clean  through  your  body,  and  never  do 
you  any  harm  at  all. 

Acres.  Clean  through  me  !  a  ball  or  two  clean  through 
me ! 

Sir  L.  Ay,  may  they :  and  it  is  much  the  genteelest 
attitude,  into  the  bargain. 

Acres.  Look  ye,  Sir  Lucius,  I  'd  just  as  lief  be  shot  in 
an  awkward  posture  as  a  genteel  one ;  so,  by  my  valor !  I 
will  stand  edgeways. 

Sir  L.  (Looking  at  his  watch.)  Sure,  they  do  n't  mean  to 
disappoint  us:  ha!  no,  faith,  I  think  I  see  them  coming. 

Acres.     Hey!  what!   coming? 

Sir  L.     Ay,  who  are  those  yonder,  getting  over  the  stile? 

Acres.  There  are  two  of  them,  indeed!  Well,  let  them 
some,  hey,  Sir  Lucius  !  We — we — we — we — wont  run  ! 

Sir  L.     Run  ! 

Acres.     No,  I  say;  we  wont  run,  by  my  valor! 


72  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

Sir  L.     Why,  what  the  plague  's  the  matter  with  you? 

Acres.  Nothing — nothing — my  dear  friend — my  dear  Sir 
Lucius — but — I — I — I  don't  feel  quite  so  bold,  somehow, 
as  1  did. 

Sir  L.     0,  fie !  consider  your  honor. 

Acres.  Ay,  true ;  my  honor  !  do,  Sir  Lucius,  edge  in  a 
word  or  two,  every  now  and  then,  about  my  honor.  / 

Sir  L.     Well,  here  they  're  coming.     (Looking.*) 

Acres.  Sir  Lucius,  if  I  was  n't  with  you,  I  should  almost 
think  I  was  afraid — if  my  valor  should  leave  me  ! — valor 
will  come  and  go. 

Sir  L.     Then  pray  keep  it  fast,  while  you  have  it. 

Acres.  Sir  Lucius,  I  think  it  is  going :  yes,  my  valor  is 
certainly  going  !  it  is  sneaking  off:  I  feel  it  oozing  out,  as 
it  were,  at  the  palms  of  my  hands  ! 

Sir  L.  Your  honor — your  honor.  Here  they  are.  We 
must  go  and  meet  them. 

Acres.     Oh !  that  I  was  safe  at  home  !     (Exeunt.') 

FROM  SHERIDAN. 


XX.— HAYNE  ON  WEBSTER. 

THE  honorable  gentleman  from  Massachusetts,  after 
deliberating  a  whole  night  upon  his  course,  comes  into 
this  chamber  to  vindicate  New  England.  Instead,  how- 
ever, of  making  up  his  issue  with  the  gentleman  from 
Missouri,  on  the  charges  which  he  had  preferred,  he  chooses 
to  consider  me  as  the  author  of  those  charges.  Losing 
sight  entirely  of  that  gentleman,  he  selects  me  as  his  ad- 
versary, and  pours  out  all  the  vials  of  his  mighty  wrath 
upon  my  devoted  head.  Nor  is  he  willing  to  stop  there. 
He  goes  on  to  assail  the  institutions  and  policy  of  the 
South.  He  calls  in  question  the  principles  and  conduct 
of  the  State,  which  I  have  the  honor  to  represent. 

When  I  find  a  gentleman  of  mature  age  and  experience, 
of  acknowledged  talents,  and  profound  sagacity,  pursuing 
a  course  like  this,  declining  the  contest  offered  from  th6 
West,  and  making  war  upon  the  unoffending  South,  I  must 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  73 

believe,  I  am  bound  to  believe,  he  has  some  object  in  view, 
which  he  has  not  ventured  to  disclose.  Mr.  President, 
why  is  this?  Has  the  gentleman  discovered,  in  former 
controversies  with  the  gentleman  from  Missouri,  that  he  is 
overmatched  by  that  senator?  And  does  he  hope  for  an 
easy  victory  over  a  more  feeble  adversary? 

Has  the  gentleman's  distempered  fancy  been  disturbed 
by  gloomy  forebodings  of  "new  alliances  to  be  formed,"  at 
which  he  hinted?  Has  the  ghost  of  the  murdered  Coalition 
come  back,  like  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  to  "sear  the  eye-balls 
of  the  gentleman,"  and  will  it  not  "down  at  his  bidding?" 
Are  dark  visions  of  broken  hopes,  and  honors  lost  forever, 
still  floating  before  his  heated  imagination?  If  it  be  his 
object  to  thrust  me  between  the  gentleman  from  Missouri 
and  himself,  in  order  to  rescue  the  East  from  the  contest 
it  has  provoked  with  the  West,  he  shall  not  be  gratified. 

I  will  not  be  dragged  into  the  defense  of  my  friend  from 
Missouri.  The  South  shall  not  be  forced  into  a  conflict 
not  its  own.  The  gentleman  from  Missouri  is  able  to  fight 
his  own  battles.  The  gallant  West  needs  no  aid  from  the 
South,  to  repel  any  attack  which  may  be  made  on  them  from 
any  quarter.  Let  the  gentleman  from  Massachusetts  con- 
trovert the  facts  and  arguments  of  the  gentleman  from 
Missouri,  if  he  can.  If  he  win  the  victory,  let  him  wear 
the  honors.  I  shall  not  deprive  him  of  his  laurels. 


XXI.— WEBSTER'S  REPLY  TO  HAYNK— No.  1. 

Tins  and  the  four  following  pieces  form  a  consecutive  extract  from 
Webster's  celebrated  reply  to  Senator  Hayne,  of  S.  Carolina.  Each 
may  be  spoken  independently,  or  any  number,  or  all  of  them,  may 
be  spoken  together. 

THE  gentleman  told  the  senate,  with  the  emphasis  of  his 
hand  upon  his  heart,  that  there  was  something  rankling 
here,  which  he  wished  to  relieve.  In  this  respect,  I  have 
a  great  advantage  over  the  honorable  gentleman.  There  is 
nothing  Vtcre,  sir,  which  gives  me  the  slightest  uneasiness. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 7 


74  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

There  is  neither  fear,  nor  anger,  nor  that  which  is  some- 
times more  troublesome  than  either,  the  consciousness  of 
having  been  in  the  wrong.  There  is  nothing,  either  origi- 
nating here,  or  now  received  here  by  the  gentleman's  shot. 
I  had  not  the  slightest  feeling  of  disrespect  or  unkindness 
toward  the  honorable  member. 

Some  passages,  it  is  true,  had  occurred  since  our  acquaint- 
ance in  this  body,  which  I  could  have  wished  might  have 
been  otherwise.  But  I  had  used  philosophy  and  forgotten 
them.  When  the  honorable  member  rose  in  his  first 
speech,  I  paid  him  the  respect  of  attentive  listening. 
When  he  sat  down,  though  surprised,  and  I  must  say  even 
astonished,  at  some  of  his  opinions,  nothing  was  farther 
from  my  intention  than  to  commence  any  personal  warfare. 

Through  the  whole  of  the  few  remarks  I  made  in  answer, 
I  avoided,  studiously  and  carefully,  every  thing  which  I 
thought  possible  to  be  construed  into  disrespect.  And, 
while  there  is  thus  nothing  originating  here  which  I  wished 
at  any  time,  or  now  wish,  to  discharge,  I  must  repeat,  also, 
that  nothing  has  been  received  here  which  rankles,  or  in 
any  way  gives  me  annoyance.  I  will  not  accuse  the  hono- 
rable member  of  violating  the  rules  of  civilized  war.  I 
will  not  say  that  he  poisoned  his  arrows.  But  whether  his 
shafts  were,  or  were  not,  dipped  in  that  which  would  have 
caused  rankling  if  they  had  reached,  there  was  not,  as  it 
happened,  quite  strength  enough  in  the  bow  to  bring  them 
to  their  mark.  If  he  wishes  now  to  gather  up  those  shafts, 
he  must  look  for  them  elsewhere.  They  will  not  be  found 
fixed  and  quivering  in  the  object  at  which  they  were  aimed. 


XXII.— WEBSTER'S  REPLY  TO  HAYNE.— No.  II 

THE  honorable  member  complained  that  I  had  slept  on 
his  speech.  I  must  have  slept  on  it,  or  not  slept  at  all. 
The  moment  the  honorable  member  sat  down,  his  friend 
from  Missouri  rose,  and,  with  much  honeyed  commendation 
of  the  speech,  suggested  that  the  impressions  which  it  had 
produced  were  too  charming  and  delightful  to  be  disturbed 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  75 

by  other  sentiments  or  other  sounds,  and  proposed  that  the 
senate  should  adjourn. 

Would  it  have  been  quite  amiable  in  me,  to  interrupt 
this  excellent  good  feeling?  Must  I  not  have  been  abso- 
lutely malicious,  if  I  could  have  thrust  myself  forward,  to 
destroy  sensations  thus  pleasing?  Was  it  not  much  better 
and  kinder,  both  to  sleep  upon  them  myself,  and  to  allow 
others  also  the  pleasure  of  sleeping  upon  them?  But  if  it 
be  meant,  by  sleeping  upon  his  speech,  that  I  took  time  to 
prepare  a  reply  to  it,  it  is  quite  a  mistake.  Owing  to  other 
engagements,  I  could  not  employ  even  the  interval  between 
the  adjournment  of  the  senate  and  its  meeting  the  next 
morning,  in  attention  to  the  subject  of  this  debate. 

Nevertheless,  the  mere  matter  of  fact  is  undoubtedly  true. 
I  did  sleep  on  the  gentleman's  speech,  and  slept  soundly. 
And  I  slept  equally  well  on  his  speech  of  yesterday.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  in  this  respect,  ^Iso,  I  possess  some 
advantage  over  the  honorable  member,  attributable,  doubt- 
less, to  a  cooler  temperament  on  my  part;  for,  in  truth, 
I  slept  upon  his  speeches  remarkably  well. 


XXIII.— WEBSTER'S  REPLY  TO  HAYNE.— No.  III. 

THE  gentleman  inquires  why  he  was  made  the  object  of 
such  a  reply.  Why  was  he  singled  out?  If  an  attack  has 
been  made  on  the  East,  he,  he  assures  us,  did  not  begin 
it.  It  was  made  by  the  gentleman  from  Missouri.  I 
answered  the  gentleman's  speech  because  I  happened  to 
hear  it.  I  chose,  also,  to  give  an  answer  to  that  speech, 
which,  if  unanswered,  I  thought  most  likely  to  produce  in- 
jurious impressions.  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire  who  was  the 
original  drawer  of  the  bill.  I  found  a  responsible  endorser 
before  me,  and  it  was  my  purpose  to  hold  him  liable,  and 
to  bring  him  to  his  just  responsibility,  without  delay. 

But,  this  interrogatory  of  the  honorable  member  was 
only  introductory  to  another.  He  proceeded  to  ask  me 
whether  I  had  turned  upon  him,  in  this  debate,  from  the 
consciousness  that  I  should  find  an  overmatch,  if  I  ventured 
on  a  contest  with  his  friend  from  Missouri.  If  the  honorable 


76  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

member,  in  his  modesty,  had  chosen  thus  to  defer  to  his 
friend,  and  pay  him  a  compliment,  without  intentional  dis- 
paragement to  others,  it  would  have  been  quite  according 
to  the  friendly  courtesies  of  debate,  and  not  at  all  ungrat$* 
ful  to  my  own  feelings. 

I  am  not  one  of  those,  who  esteem  any  tribute  of  regard, 
whether  light  and  occasional,  or  more  serious  and  deliberate, 
which  may  be  bestowed  on  others,  as  so  much  unjustly 
withholden  from  themselves.  But  the  tone  and  manner 
of  the  gentleman's  question  forbid  me  thus  to  interpret  it. 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  consider  it  as  nothing  more  than  a 
civility  to  his  friend.  It  had  an  air  of  taunt  and  dispar- 
agement, something  of  the  loftiness  of  asserted  superiority, 
which  does  not  allow  me  to  pass  it  over  without  notice. 

It  was  put  as  a  question  for  me  to  answer,  and  so  put  as 
if  it  were  difficult  for  me  to  answer,  whether  I  deemed  the 
member  from  Missouri  an  overmatch  far  myself,  in  debate 
here.  It  seems  to  me,  that  this  is  extraordinary  language, 
and  an  extraordinary  tone,  for  the  discussions  of  this  body. 


XXIV.— WEBSTER'S  REPLY  TO  HAYNE.— No.  IV. 

MATCHES  and  overmatches!  Those  terms  are  more 
applicable  elsewhere  than  here,  and  fitter  for  other  assem- 
blies than  this.  The  gentleman  seems  to  forget  where  and 
what  we  are.  This  is  a  senate,  a  senate  of  equals,  of  men 
of  individual  honor  and  personal  character,  and  of  absolute 
independence.  We  know  no  masters,  we  acknowledge  no 
dictators.  This  is  a  hall  for  mutual  consultation  and  dis- 
cussion; not  an  arena  for  the  exhibition  of  champions. 

I  offer  myself,  as  a  match  for  no  man.  I  throw  the  chal- 
lenge of  debate  at  no  man's  feet.  But  then,  since  the 
honorable  member  has  put  the  question  in  a  manner  that 
calls  for  an  answer,  I  will  give  him  an  answer.  I  tell  him, 
that,  holding  myself  to  be  the  humblest  of  the  members 
here,  I  yet  know  nothing  in  the  arm  of  his  friend  from 
Missouri,  either  alone  or  when  aided  by  the  arm  of  his 
friend  from  South  Carolina,  that  need  deter  even  me  from 
espousing  whatever  opinions  I  may  choose  to  espouse,  from 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  77 

debating  whenever  I  may  choose  to  debate,  or  from  speak- 
ing whatever  I  may  see  fit  to  say,  on  the  floor  of  the  senate. 

When  uttered  as  matter  of  commendation  or  compliment, 
I  should  dissent  from  nothing  which  the  honorable  member 
might  say  of  his  friend.  Still  less  do  I  put  forth  any  pre- 
tensions of  my  own.  But  when  put  to  me  as  a  matter  of 
taunt,  I  throw  it  back,  and  say  to  the  gentleman,  that  he 
could  possibly  say  nothing  less  likely  than  such  a  com- 
parison to  wound  my  pride  of  personal  character.  The 
anger  of  its  tone  rescued  the  remark  from  intentional  irony, 
which  otherwise,  probably,  would  have  been  its  general 
acceptation. 

But,  if  it  be  imagined  that  by  this  mutual  quotation  and 
commendation ;  if  it  be  supposed  that,  by  casting  the  char- 
acters of  the  drama,  assigning  to  each  his  part,  to  one  the 
attack,  to  another  the  cry  of  onset;  or  if  it  be  thought  that, 
by  a  loud  and  empty  vaunt  of  anticipated  victory,  any 
laurels  are  to  be  won  here;  if  it  be  imagined,  especially, 
that  any,  or  all  of  these  things  will  shake  any  purpose  of 
mine,  I  can  tell  the  honorable  member,  once  for  all,  that 
he  is  greatly  mistaken,  and  that  he  is  dealing  with  one  of 
whose  temper  and  character  he  has  yet  much  to  learn. 

I  shall  not  allow  myself,  on  this  occasion,  I  hope  on  no 
occasion,  to  be  betrayed  into  any  loss  of  temper.  If  pro- 
voked, however,  as  I  trust  I  never  shall  be,  into  crimination 
and  recrimination,  the  honorable  member  may  perhaps  find, 
that,  in  that  contest,  there  will  be  blows  to  take  as  well  as 
blows  to  give.  He  may  find,  that  others  can  state  compari- 
sons as  significant,  at  least,  as  his  own,  and  that  his  impu- 
nity may  possibly  demand  of  him  whatever  powers  of  taunt 
and  sarcasm  he  may  possess.  I  commend  him  to  a  prudent 
husbandry  of  his  resources. 


XXV.— WEBSTER'S  REPLY  TO  HAYNE.— No.  V. 

THE  honorable  member  was  not,  for  many  reasons,  en- 
tirely happy  in  his  allusion  to  the  story  of  Banquo's  murder 
and  Banquo's  ghost.  It  was  not,  I  think,  the  friends,  but 


78  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

the  enemies  of  the  murdered  Banquo,  at  whose  bidding  his 
spirit  would  not  down.  The  honorable  gentleman  is  fresh 
in  his  reading  of  the  English  classics,  and  can  put  me  right 
if  I  am  wrong.  But,  according  to  my  poor  recollection,  it 
was  at  those  who  had  begun  with  caresses  and  ended  with 
foul  and  treacherous  murder,  that  the  gory  locks  were 
shaken. 

The  ghost  of  Banquo,  like  that  of  Hamlet,  was  an  honest 
ghost.  It  disturbed  no  innocent  man.  It  knew  where  its 
appearance  would  strike  terror,  and  who  would  cry  out,  A 
ghost!  It  made  itself  visible  in  the  right  quarter,  and  com- 
pelled the  guilty  and  the  conscience-smitten,  and  none 
others,  to  start,  with, 

"Prithee,  see  there!    behold!  look!  lo! 
If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him ! " 

Their  eyeballs  were  seared  (was  it  not  so?)  who  had 
thought  to  shield  themselves  by  concealing  their  own  hand, 
and  laying  the  imputation  of  the  crime  on  a  low  and  hire- 
ling agency  in  wickedness;  who  had  vainly  attempted  to 
stifle  the  workings  of  their  own  coward  consciences  by 
ejaculating  through  white  lips  and  chattering  teeth,  ':Thou 
canst  not  say  I  did  it!" 

I  have  misread  the  great  poet  if  those  who  had  no  way 
partaken  in  the  deed  of  the  death,  either  found  that  they 
were,  or  feared  that  they  should  be,  pushed  from  their  stools 
by  the  ghost  of  the  slain,  or  exclaimed  to  a  specter,  created 
by  their  own  fears  and  their  own  remorse,  "Avaunt!  and 
quit  our  sight!" 

There  is  another  particular,  in  which  the  honorable 
member's  quick  perception  of  resemblances  might,  I  should 
think,  have  seen  something  in  the  story  of  Banquo,  making 
it  not  altogether  a  subject  of  the  most  pleasant  contempla- 
tion. Those  who  murdered  Banquo,  what  did  they  win  by 
it?  Substantial  good?  Permanent  power?  Or  disappoint- 
ment, rather,  and  sore  mortification;  dust  and  ashes,  the 
common  fate  of  vaulting  ambition  overleaping  itself? 

Did  not  even-handed  justice  ere  long  commend  the 
poisoned  chalice  to  their  own  lips?  Did  they  not  soon 
find  that  for  another  they  had  "filed  their  mind?"  that 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  79 

their  ambition,  though  apparently  for  the  moment  success- 
ful, had  but  put  a  barren  scepter  in  their  grasp?     Ay,  sir, 

"  a  barren  scepter  in  their  gripe, 
Thence  to  be  wrenched  by  an  unlineal  hand, 
No  son  of  theirs  succeeding." 


XXVI.— NEW  ENGLAND'S  DEAD. 

"  THE  bones  of  her  sons,  falling  in  the  great  struggle  for  inde- 
pendence, now  lie  mingled,  with  the  soil  of  every  State,  from  New 
England  to  Georgia;  and  there  they  will  remain  forever." — Webster. 

NEW  ENGLAND'S  dead!     New  England's  dead! 

On  every  hill  they  lie; 
On  every  field  of  strife,  made  red 

By  bloody  victory. 
Each  valley,  where  the  battle  poured 

Its  red  and  awful  tide, 
Beheld  the  brave  New  England  sword 

With  slaughter  deeply  dyed. 
Their  bones  are  on  the  northern  hill, 

And  on  the  southern  plain, 
By  brook  and  river,  lake  and  rill, 

And  by  the  roaring  main. 

The  land  is  holy  where  they  fought, 

And  holy  where  they  fell; 
For  by  their  blood  that  land  was  bought, 

The  land  they  loved  so  well. 
Then  glory  to  that  valiant  band, 
The  honored  saviors  of  the  land ! 

They  left  the  plowshare  in  the  mold, 
Their  flocks  and  herds  without  a  fold, 
The  sickle  in  the  unshorn  grain, 
The  corn,  half-garnered,  on  the  plain, 
And  mustered  in  their  simple  dress, 
For  wrongs  to  seek  a  stern  redress ; 
To  right  those  wrongs,  come  weal,  come  woe, 
To  perish,  or  o'ercome  their  foe. 

Oh,  few  and  weak  their  numbers  were, 
A  handful  of  brave  men; 


80  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

But  to  their  God  they  gave  their  prayer, 

And  rushed  to  battle  then. 
The  God  of  battles  heard  their  cry, 
And  sent  to  them  the  victory. 


XXVII— NEW  ENGLAND. 

GLORIOUS  New  England!  thou  art  still  true  to  thy  an- 
cient fame,  and  worthy  of  thy  ancestral  honors.  We  have 
assembled  in  this  far  distant  land  to  celebrate  thy  birth- 
day. A  thousand  fond  associations  throng  upon  us,  roused 
by  the  spirit  of  the  hour.  On  thy  pleasant  valleys  rest, 
like  sweet  dews  of  morning,  the  gentle  recollections  of  our 
early  life.  Around  thy  hills  and  mountains  cling,  like 
gathering  mists,  the  mighty  memories  of  the  Revolution. 
And,  far  away  in  the  horizon  of  thy  past,  gleam,  like  thy 
own  bright  northern  lights,  the  awful  virtues  of  our  pil- 
grim sires  ! 

But  while  we  devote  this  day  to  the  remembrance  of  our 
native  land,  we  forget  not  that  in  which  our  happy  lot  is 
cast.  We  exult  in  the  reflection,  that  though  we  count  by 
thousands  the  miles  which  separate  us  from  our  birthplace, 
still  our  country  is  the  same.  We  are  no  exiles  meeting 
upon  the  banks  of  a  foreign  river,  to  swell  its  waters  with 
our  homesick  tears.  Here  floats  the  same  banner  which 
rustled  above  our  boyish  heads,  except  that  its  mighty  folds 
are  wider,  and  its  glittering  stars  increased  in  number. 

The  sons  of  New  England  are  found  in  every  State  of 
the  broad  republic  !  In  the  East,  the  South,  and  the  un- 
bounded West,  their  blood  mingles  freely  with  every  kin- 
dred current.  We  have  but  changed  our  chamber  in  the 
paternal  mansion.  In  all  its  rooms  we  are  at  home,  and 
all  who  inhabit  it  are  our  brothers.  To  us  the  Union  has 
but  one  domestic  hearth.  Its  household  gods  are  all  the 
same.  Upon  us,  then,  peculiarly  devolves  the  duty  of  feed- 
ing the  fires  upon  that  kindly  hearth;  of  guarding  with 
pious  care  those  sacred  household  gods. 

We  can  not  do  with  less  than  the  whole  Union.  To  us 
it  admits  of  no  division.  In  the  veins  of  our  children 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  81 

flow  Northern  and  Southern  blood.  How  shall  it  be  sep- 
arated? Who  shall  put  asunder  the  best  affections  of  the 
heart,  the  noblest  instincts  of  our  nature?  We  love  the 
land  of  our  adoption ;  so  do  we  that  of  our  birth.  Let  us 
ever  be  true  to  both;  and  always  exert  ourselves  in  main- 
taining the  unity  of  our  country,  the  integrity  of  the  re- 
public. 

Accursed,  then,  be  the  hand  put  forth  to  loosen  the  golden 
cord  of  union  !  Thrice  accursed  the  traitorous  lips  which 
shall  propose  its  severance!  But  no!  the  Union  can  not 
be  dissolved.  Its  fortunes  are  too  brilliant  to  be  marred  ; 
its  destinies,  too  powerful  to  be  resisted.  And  when,  a 
century  hence,  this  city  shall  have  filled  her  golden  horns; 
when  within  her  broad-armed  port  shall  be  gathered  the 
products  of  the  industry  of  freemen ;  when  galleries  of  art 
and  halls  of  learning  shall  have  made  classic  this  mart  of 
trade;  then  may  the  sons  of  the  Pilgrims,  still  wandering 
from  the  bleak  hills  of  the  north,  stand  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Great  River,  and  exclaim,  with  mingled  pride  and 
wonder ;  Lo  !  this  is  our  country.  When  did  the  world 
ever  behold  so  great  and  glorious  a  republic? 

FROM  S.  S.  PRENTISS. 


XXVIII.— THE  HOMES  OF  ENGLAND. 

THE  stately  Homes  of  England, 

How  beautiful  they  stand ! 
Amid  their  tall  ancestral  trees, 

O'er  all  the  pleasant  land. 
The  deer  across  their  greensward  bound, 

Through  shade  and  sunny  gleam, 
And  the  swan  glides  past  them  with  the  sound 

Of  some  rejoicing  stream. 

The  merry  Homes  of  England ! 

Around  their  hearths  by  night, 
What  gladsome  looks  of  household  love 

Meet  in  the  ruddy  light ! 
There,  woman's  voice  flows  forth  in  song, 

Or  childhood's  tale  is  told, 


82  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Or  lips  move  tunefully  along 
Some  glorious  page  of  old. 

The  bless-ed  Homes  of  England ! 

How  softly  on  their  bowers 
Is  laid  the  holy  quietness 

That  breathes  from  sabbath  hours ! 
Solemn,  yet  sweet,  the  church-bells'  chime 

Floats  through  their  woods  at  morn ; 
All  other  sounds,  in  that  still  time, 

Of  breeze  and  leaf  are  born. 

The  cottage  Homes  of  England ! 

By  thousands  o'er  her  plains, 
They  are  smiling  o'er  the  silvery  brooks, 

And  round  the  hamlet  fanes. 
Through  glowing  orchards  forth  they  peep> 

Each  from  its  nook  of  leaves, 
And  fearless  there  the  lowly  sleep, 

As  the  bird  beneath  their  eaves. 

The  free,  fair  Homes  of  England! 

Long,  long,  in  hut  and  hall, 
May  hearts  of  native  proof  be  reared 

To  guard  each  hallowed  Avail! 
And  green  forever  be  the  groves, 

And  bright  the  fairy  sod, 
Where  first  the  child's  glad  spirit  loves 

Its  country  and  its  God! 

FROM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


j 


XXIX.— THE  HERMIT  HUNTER 

How  gladly  would  I  wander  through  some  strange  and  savage 

land, 

The  lasso  at  my  saddle-bow,  the  rifle  in  my  hand, 
A  leash  of  gallant  mastiffs  bounding  by  my  side, 
And  for  a  friend  to  love,  the  noble  horse  on  which  I  ride ! 

Alone,  alone;  yet  not  alone,  for  God  is  with  me  there, 
The  tender  hand  of  Providence  shall  guide  me  everywhere, 
While  happy  thoughts  and  holy  hopes,  as  spirits  calm  and  mild, 
Shall  fan  with  their  sweet  wings  the  hermit  hunter  of  the  wild ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  83 

Without  a  guide,  yet  guided  well,   young,  buoyant,  fresh,  and 

free, 

Without  a  road,  yet  all  the  land  a  highway  unto  me; 
Without  a  care,  without  a  fear,  without  a  grief  or  pain, 
Exultingly  I  thread  the  woods,  or  gallop  o'er  the  plain ! 

Or,  brushing  through  the  copse,  from  his  leafy  home  I  start 

The  stately  elk  or  tusky  boar,  the  bison  or  the  hart; 

And  then,  with  eager  spur,  to  scour  away,  away! 

Nor  stop  until  my  dogs  have  brought  the  glorious  brute  to  bay. 

Or,  if  the  gang  of  hungry  wolves  come  yelling  on  my  track, 
I  make  my  ready  rifle  speak,  and  scare  the  cowards  back; 
Or,  if  the  lurking  leopard's  eyes  among  the  branches  shine, 
A  touch  upon  the  trigger,  and  his  spotted  skin  is  mine ! 

And  then  the  hunter's  savory  fare,  at  tranquil  eventide, 
The  dappled  deer  I  shot  to-day,  upon  the  green  hillside; 
My  feasted  hounds  are  slumbering  round,  beside  the  watercourse, 
And  plenty  of  sweet  prairie-grass  for  thee,  my  noble  horse. 

FROM  TUPPEK. 


XXX.— THE  DOCTOR.— SCENE  I. 

CHARACTERS. —  Gregory  and  his  wife  Dorcas. 
(Enter  Dorcas  and  Gregory.) 

Gregory.  I  TELL  you  no,  I  wont  comply,  and  it  is  my 
business  to  talk  and  to  command. 

Dorcas.  And  I  tell  you,  you  shall  conform  to  my  will. 
I  was  not  married  to  you  to  suffer  your  ill-humors. 

Greg.  0  the  intolerable  fatigue  of  matrimony  !  Aris- 
totle never  said  a  better  thing  in  his  life,  than  when  he 
told  us,  "that  a  wife  is  worse  than  a  plague." 

Dor.     Hear  the  learned  gentleman,  with  his  Aristotles. 

Greg.  And  a  learned  man  I  am,  too.  Find  me  out  a 
maker  of  fagots,  that 's  able,  like  myself,  to  reason  upon 
things,  or  that  can  boast  such  an  education  as  mine. 

Dor.     An  education  ! 

Greg.  Ay,  woman,  a  regular  education  ;  first  at  the  char- 
ity-school, where  I  learnt  to  read ;  then  I  waited  on  a  gen- 
tleman at  Oxford,  where  I  learnt — very  near  as  much  as 
my  master ;  from  whence  I  attended  a  traveling  physician 


84  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

six  years,  under  the  facetious  denomination  of  a  Merry 
Andrew,  where  I  learnt  physic. 

Dor.  0  that  thou  hadst  followed  him  still!  Ah!  ill- 
fated  hour,  wherein  I  answered  the  parson,  I  will. 

Greg.  And  ill-fated  be  the  parson  that  asked  me  the 
question  ! 

Dor.  You  have  reason  to  complain  of  him,  indeed,  who 
ought  to  be  on  your  knees  every  moment,  returning  thanks 
to  heaven,  for  that  great  blessing  it  sent  you,  when  it  sent 
you  myself.  I  hope  you  have  not  the  assurance  to  think 
you  deserve  such  a  wife  as  I. 

Greg.  No,  really,  I  do  n't  think  I  do.  Come,  come, 
madam,  it  was  a  lucky  day  for  you,  when  you  found  me 
out. 

Dor.  Lucky,  indeed  !  a  fellow  who  eats  every  thing  I 
have.  . 

Greg.  That  happens  to  be  a  mistake,  for  I  drink  some 
part  on  't. 

Dor.     That  has  not  even  left  me  a  bed  to  lie  on. 

Greg.     You'll  rise  the  earlier. 

Dor.  And  who,  from  morning  till  night,  is  constantly 
in  an  alehouse. 

Grey.     'T  is  genteel.     The  squire  does  the  same. 

Dor.     And  do  you  imagine,  sot — 

Greg.  Hark  ye,  my  dear;  you  know  my  temper  is  not 
over  and  above  passive,  and  that  my  arm  is  extremely  ac- 
tive. 

Dor.  I  laugh  at  your  threats,  poor,  beggarly,  insolent 
fellow. 

Greg.  Soft  object  of  my  wishing  eyes,  I  shall  play  witli 
your  pretty  ears. 

Dor.  Touch  me  if  you  dare,  you  insolent,  impudent, 
dirty,  lazy — 

Greg.  Oh,  ho,  ho !  you  will  have  it  then,  I  find.  (Beats 
her.) 

Dor.     0  murder  !  murder ! 

(Enter  Squire  Robert.) 

Robert.  What 's  the  matter  here  ?  Fie  upon  you,  neigh- 
bor, to  beat  your  wife  in  this  scandalous  manner. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  85 

Dor.  Well,  sir,  and  I  have  a  mind  to  be  beat,  and  what 
then? 

Rob.  0  dear,  madam  !  I  give  my  consent,  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul. 

Dor.  What 's  that,  you  saucebox  ?  Is  it  any  business 
of  yours  ? 

Rob.     No,  certainly,  madam. 

Dor.  Here  's  an  impertinent  fellow  for  you ;  wont  suf- 
fer a  husband  to  beat  his  own  wife  ! 

Rob.  Neighbor,  I  ask  your  pardon,  heartily;  here,  take 
and  thrash  your  wife ;  beat  her  as  you  ought  to  do. 

Greg.     No,  sir,  I  wont  beat  her. 

Rob.     0  !  sir,  that 's  another  thing. 

Greg.  I  '11  beat  her  when  I  please,  and  will  not  beat  her 
when  I  do  not  please.  She  is  my  wife,  and  not  yours. 

Rob.     Certainly. 

Dor.     Give  me  the  stick,  dear  husband. 

Rob.  Well,  if  I  ever  attempt  to  part  husband  and  wife 
again,  may  I  be  beaten  myself.  (Exit.*) 

Greg.     Come,  my  dear,  let  us  be  friends. 

Dor.     What,  after  beating  me  so? 

Greg.     'T  was  but  in  jest. 

Dor.  I  desire  you  will  crack  your  jests  on  your  own 
bones  next  time,  not  on  mine. 

Greg.  Psha !  you  know,  you  and  I  are  one,  and  I  beat 
one  half  of  myself,  when  I  beat  you. 

Dor.  Yes,  but  for  the  future,  I  desire  you  will  beat  the 
other  half  of  yourself. 

Greg.  Come,  my  pretty  dear,  I  ask  pardon.  I  'm  sorry 
for  't. 

Dor.     For  once,  I  pardon  you ;  but  you  shall  pay  for  it. 

Greg.  Psha !  psha !  child,  these  are  only  little  affairs, 
necessary  in  friendship.  Four  or  five  good  blows  with  a 
cudgel,  between  your  very  fond  couples,  only  tend  to 
highten  the  affections.  I  '11  now  to  the  wood,  and  I  prom- 
ise thee  to  make  a  hundred  fagots  before  I  come  home 
again.  (Exit.) 

Dor.  If  I  am  not  revenged  on  those  blows  of  yours ! 
Oh,  that  I  could  but  think  of  some  method  to  be  revenged 


86  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

on  him  !     Oh,  that  I  could  find  out  some  invention  to  get 
him  well  drubbed!  FKOM  FIELDING. 


XXXI— THE  DOCTOR— SCENE  II. 

CHARACTERS.— Harry,  and  James,  and  Dorcas. 
(Enter  Harry  and  James.     Dorcas  in  the  background.} 

Harry.  WERE  ever  two  fools  sent  on  such  a  message  as 
we  are,  in  quest  of  a  dumb  doctor  ? 

James.  Blame  your  own  paltry  memory,  that  made  you 
forget  his  name.  For  my  part,  I'll  travel  through  the 
world,  rather  than  return  without  him.  That  were  as  much 
as  a  limb  or  two  were  worth. 

Ear.  Was  ever  such  a  sad  misfortune  ?  to  lose  the  let- 
ter !  I  should  not  even  know  his  name,  if  I  were  to  hear 
it. 

Dor.  (Aside.)  Can  I  find  no  invention  to  be  revenged? 
Heyday!  who  are  these? 

Jam.  Hark  ye,  mistress.  Do  you  know  where— where 
—where  doctor  what-d'ye-call  him,  lives? 

Dor.     Doctor  who? 

Jam.    Doctor— doctor— what's  his  name? 

Dor.     Hey  !  what!  has  the  fellow  a  mind  to  banter  me? 

Har.  Is  there  no  physician  hereabout,  famous  for 
curing  dumbness? 

Dor.  I  fancy  you  have  no  need  of  such  a  physician 
Mr.  Impertinence. 

Har.  Don't  mistake  us,  good  woman.  We  don't  mean 
»  banter  you.  We  are  sent  by  our  master,  whose  daugh- 
ter has  lost  her  speech,  for  a  certain  physician,  who  lives 
hereabout.  We  have  lost  our  direction,  and  'tis  as  much 
as  our  lives  are  worth,  to  return  without  him. 

Dor.  There  is  one  Doctor  Lazy  lives  just  by,  but  he 
has  left  off  practicing.  You  would  not  get  him  a  mile,  to 
save  the  lives  of  a  thousand  patients. 

Jam.  Direct  us  but  to  him.  We'll  bring  him  with  us, 
one  way  or  other,  I  warrant  you. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  87 

Har.  Ay,  ay,  we'll  have  him  with  us,  though  we  carry 
him  on  our  backs. 

Dor.  (Aside.~)  Ha !  revenge  inspires  me  with  one  of 
the  most  admirable  thoughts  to  punish  my  husband,  for 
treating  me  so  badly.  He's  reckoned  one  of  the  best 
physicians  in  the  world,  especially  for  dumbness. 

Har.    Pray  tell  us  where  he  lives  ? 

Dor.  You  '11  never  be  able  to  get  him  out  of  his  own 
house.  But,  if  you  watch  hereabout,  you  '11  certainly 
meet  with  him,  for  he  very  often  amuses  himself  here  with 
cutting  wood. 

Har.     A  physician  cut  wood  ! 

Jam.  I  suppose  he  amuses  himself  in  searching  after 
herbs,  you  mean. 

Dor.  No,  he's  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  men  in 
the  world.  He  goes  dressed  like  a  common  clown ;  for 
there  is  nothing  he  so  much  dreads,  as  to  be  known  for  a 
physician. 

Jam.  All  your  great  men  have  strange  oddities  about 
'em. 

Dor.  Why,  he  will  suffer  himself  to  be  beat,  before  he 
will  own  himself  to  be  a  physician.  I  '11  give  you  my 
word,  you'll  never  make  him  own  himself  one,  unless  you 
both  of  you,  take  a  good  cudgel  and  thrash  him  into  it. 
'T  is  what  we  are  all  forced  to  do,  when  we  have  any  need 
of  him. 

Jam.    What  a  ridiculous  whim  is  here ! 

Dor.     Very  true ;  and  in  so  great  a  man. 

Jam.    And  is  he  so  very  skillful  a  man  ? 

Dor.  Skillful  !  why,  he  does  miracles.  About  half  a 
year  ago,  a  woman  was  given  over  by  all  her  physicians, 
nay,  it  is  said,  she  had  been  dead,  some  time.  When  this 
great  man  came  to  her,  as  soon  as  he  saw  her,  he  poured  '< 
a  little  drop  of  something  down  her  throat.  He  had  no 
sooner  done  it,  than  she  walked  about  the  room  as  if  there 
had  been  nothing  the  matter  with  her. 

Both.     Oh,  prodigious ! 

Dor.  'T  is  not  above  three  weeks  ago,  that  a  child  of, 
twelve  years  old,  fell  from  the  top  of  a  house  to  the  bot- 


88  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

torn,  and  broke  its  skull,  its  arms,  and  legs.  Our  physician 
was  no  sooner  drubbed  into  making  him  a  visit,  than  hav- 
ing rubbed  the  child  all  over  with  a  certain  ointment,  it 
got  upon  its  legs,  and  ran  away  to  play. 

Both.    Oh,  most  wonderful  ! 

Har.  Hey !  James,  we  '11  drub  him  otft  of  a  pot  of  this 
ointment. 

Jam.    But  can  he  cure  dumbness  ? 

Dor.  Dumbness  !  why,  the  curate  of  our  parish's  wife, 
was  born  dumb,  and  the  doctor,  they  say,  with  a  sort  of 
wash,  washed  her  tongue  till  he  set  it  a-going,  so  that  in 
less  than  a  month's  time,  she  out-talked  her  husband. 

Har.    This  must  be  the  very  man  we  were  sent  after. 

Dor.     Yes,  no  doubt;  and  see,  yonder  he  is. 

Jam.    What,  that  he,  yonder? 

Dor.  The  very  same.  He  has  seen  us,  and  is  taking 
up  his  ax. 

Jam.  Come,  Harry,  don't  let  us  lose  one  moment. 
Mistress,  your  servant.  We  give  you  ten  thousand  thanks 
for  this  favor. 

Dor.     Be  sure  and  make  good  use  of  your  sticks. 

Jam.    He  shan't  want  for  that.     (Exeunt?) 

FROM  FIELDING. 


XXXII.— THE  DOCTOR.—  SCENE  III. 

CHARACTERS. — Harry,  and  James,  and  Gregory. 
(Gregory  with  his  ax.     Enter  James  and  Harry.} 

Greg.  FEUGH  !  't  is  most  confounded  hot  weather.  Hey! 
who  have  we  here  ? 

Jam.     Sir,  your  most  obedient,  humble  servant. 

Greg.    Sir,  your  servant.     (Bowing.} 

Jam.     We  are  mighty  happy  in  finding  you  here. 

Greg.    Ay,  like  enough. 

Jam.  'T  is  in  your  power,  sir,  to  do  us  a  very  great 
favor.  We  come,  sir,  to  implore  your  assistance  in  a  cer- 
tain affair. 

Greg.  If  it  be  in  my  power  to  give  you  any  assistance, 
masters,  I  am  very  ready  to  do  it. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  89 

Jam.  Sir,  you  arc  extremely  obliging.  But,  dear  sir, 
let  me  beg  you'd  be  covered,  the  sun  will  hurt  your  com- 
plexion. 

liar.     Oh,  do,  good  sir,  be  covered. 

Greg.  (Aside.)  These  should  be  footmen,  by  their 
dress  j  but  courtiers,  by  their  ceremony. 

Jam.  You  must  not  think  it  strange,  sir,  that  we  come 
thus  to  seek  after  you.  Men  of  your  capacity  will  be 
sought  after  by  the  whole  world. 

Greg.  Truly,  gentlemen,  though  I  say  it,  that  should 
not  say  it,  I  have  a  pretty  good  hand  at  a  fagot. 

Jam.     0  dear,  sir  ! 

Greg.  You  may,  perhaps,  buy  fagots  cheaper  elsewhere. 
But,  if  you  find  such  in  all  this  country,  you  shall  have 
mine  for  nothing.  To  make  but  one  word,  then,  with  you, 
you  shall  have  mine  for  ten  shillings  a  hundred. 

Jam.     Don't  talk  in  that  manner,  I  desire  you. 

Greg.  I  could  riot  sell  'em  a  penny  cheaper,  if  'twas  to 
my  father. 

Jam.  Dear  sir,  we  know  you  very  well ;  don't  jest  with 
us  in  this  manner. 

Greg.  Faith,  master,  I  am  so  much  in  earnest,  that  I 
can't  bate  one  farthing. 

Jam.  0  pray,  sir,  leave  this  idle  discourse.  Can  a  per- 
son like  you,  amuse  himself  in  this  manner?  Can  a  learned 
and  famous  physician,  like  you,  try  to  disguise  himself  to 
the  world,  and  bury  such  fine  talents  in  the  woods? 

Greg.    The  fellow's  a  ninny. 

Jam.    Let  me  entreat  you,  sir,  not  to  dissemble  with  us. 

Har.     It  is  in  vain,  sir,  we  know  what  you  are. 

Greg.    Know  what  you  are  !  what  do  you  know  of  me  ? 

Jam.  Why,  we  know  you,  sir,  to  be  a  very  great  phy- 
sician. 

Greg.    Physician  in  your  teeth !     I  a  physician  ! 

Jam.  The  fit  is  on  him.  Sir,  let  me  beseech  you  to 
conceal  yourself  no  longer,  and  oblige  us  to — you  know 
what. 

Greg.     Know  what!     No,  sir;  I  don't  know  what.     But 
I  know  this,  that  I'm  no  physician. 
NEW  EC.  S. — 8 


90  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

Jam.  We  must  proceed  to  the  usual  remedy,  I  find. 
And  so  you  are  no  physician  ? 

Greg.    No. 

Jam.     You  are  no  physician  ? 

Greg.    No,  I  tell  you. 

Jam.     Well,  if  we  must,  we  must.     (Seats  him.") 

Greg.  Oh  !  oh  !  Gentlemen  !  gentlemen  !  what  are  you 
doing?  I  am — I'm  whatever  you'd  please  to  have  me! 

Jam.    Why  will  you  oblige  us,  sir,  to  this  violence  ? 

Har.  Why  will  you  force  us  to  this  troublesome  rem- 
edy? 

Jam.     I  assure  you,  sir,  it  gives  me  a  great  deal  of  pain. 

Greg.  I  assure  you,  sir,  and  so  it  does  me.  But  pray, 
gentlemen,  what  is  the  reason  that  you  have  a  mind  to 
make  a  physician  of  me  ? 

Jam.  What !  do  you  deny  your  being  a  physician 
again  ? 

Greg.    To  be  sure  I  do.     I  am  no  physician. 

Har.     You  are  no  physician  ? 

Greg.  May  I  be  hanged,  if  I  am.  (They  beat  him.') 
Oh  !  oh !  Dear  gentlemen  !  Oh  !  for  mercy's  sake !  I  am 
a  physician,  and  an  apothecary  too,  if  you'll  have  me.  I 
had  rather  be  any  thing,  than  be  knocked  o'  the  head. 

Jam.  Dear  sir,  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  come  to  your 
senses.  I  ask  pardon  (ten  thousand  times)  for  what  you 
have  forced  us  to. 

Greg.  Perhaps  I  am  deceived  myself,  and  am  a  physi- 
cian without  knowing  it.  But,  dear  gentlemen,  are  you 
certain  I  'ni  a  physician  ? 

Jam.     Yes,  the  greatest  physician  in  the  world. 

Greg.    Indeed ! 

Har.     A  physician  that  has  cured  all  sorts  of  distempers. 

Greg.    The  dickens  I  have ! 

Jam.  That  has  made  a  woman  walk  about  the  room 
after  she  was  dead  six  hours. 

Har.  That  set  a  child  upon  its  legs,  immediately  after 
it  had  broken  'em. 

Jam.  That  made  the  curate's  wife,  who  was  dumb,  talk 
faster  than  her  husband. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  91 

Har.  Look  ye,  sir.  You  shall  be  satisfied.  My  master 
will  give  you  whatever  you  will  demand. 

Greg.     I  shall  have  whatever  I  will  demand? 

Jam.     You  may  depend  upon  it. 

Greg.  .  I  am  a  physician  without  doubt.  I  had  forgot 
it,  but  I  begin  to  recollect  myself.  Well,  and  what  is  the 
distemper  1  am  to  cure? 

Jam.     My  young  mistress,  sir,  has  lost  her  tongue. 

Greg.  Well,  what  if  she  has ;  do  you  think  I  've  found 
it?  But,  come,  gentlemen,  if  I  must  go  with  you,  I  must. 
(Exeunt.)  FROM  FIELDING. 


XXXIIL— THE  DOCTOR— SCENE  IV. 

CHARACTERS. — Sir  Jasper,  James,  and  Gregory. 
(Enter  Sir  Jasper  and  James.) 

Sir  Jasper.     WHERE  is  he?     Where  is  he? 

Jam.  Only  recruiting  himself  after  his  journey.  You 
need  not  be  impatient,  sir,  for  were  my  young  lady  dead, 
he'd  bring  her  to  life  again.  He  makes  no  more  of 
bringing  a  patient  to  life,  than  other  physicians  do  of  kill- 
ing him. 

Sir  J.  'T  is  strange  so  great  a  man  should  have  those 
unaccountable  odd  humors  you  mentioned. 

Jam.  'T  is  but  a  good  blow  or  two,  and  he  comes  im- 
mediately to  himself.  Here  he  is. 

(Enter  Gregory.) 

Sir,  this  is  the  doctor. 

Sir  J.  Dear  sir,  you  are  the  welcomest  man  in  the 
world. 

Greg.     Hippocrates  says,  we  should  both  be  covered. 

Sir  J.  Ha !  does  Hippocrates  say  so  ?  In  what  chapter, 
pray? 

Greg.     In  his  chapter  of  hats. 

Sir  J.     Since  Hippocrates  says  so,  I  shall  obey  him. 

Greg.  Doctor,  after  having  exceedingly  traveled  in  the 
highway  of  letters — 

Sir  J.    Doctor !  pray  whom  do  you  speak  to  ? 


92  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKEK. 

Greg.  To  you,  doctor. 

Sir  J.  Ha!  ha!  I  am  a  knight,  thank  the  king's  grace 
for  it;  but  no  doctor. 

Greg.  What!  you're  no  doctor? 

Sir  J.  No,  upon  my  word. 

Greg.  You're  no  doctor? 

Sir  J.  Doctor!  no. 

Greg.  There;   't  is  done.      (Beats  him.'} 

Sir  J.  Done!  in  the  name  of  mischief,  what's  done? 

Greg.  Why,  now  you  are  made  a  doctor  of  physic. 

(Aside.)  I  am  sure  'tis  all  the  degrees  I  ever  took. 

Sir  J.  What  bedlamite  of   a   fellow  have    you  brought 

i  c\  •*  O 

here  ? 

Jam.  I  told  you,  sir,  the  doctor  had  strange  whims 
with  him. 

Sir  J.  Whims !  Truly  !  I  shall  bind  his  physician- 
Bhip  over  to  his  good  behavior,  if  he  have  any  more  of 
these  whims. 

Greg.     Sir,  I  ask  pardon  for  the  liberty  I  have  taken. 

Sir  J.    Oh  !  't  is  very  well ;   't  is  very  well,  for  once. 

Greg.     I  am  sorry  for  these  blows. 

Sir  J.    Nothing  at  all,  nothing  at  all,  sir. 

Greg.  Which  I  was  obliged  to  have  the  honor  of  lay- 
ing so  thick  on  you. 

Sir  J.  Let's  talk  no  more  of  'em,  sir.  My  daughter, 
doctor,  is  fallen  into  a  very  strange  distemper. 

Greg.  Sir,  I  am  overjoyed  to  hear  it.  I  wish,  with  all 
my  heart,  you  and  your  whole  family,  had  the  same  occa- 
sion for  me  as  your  daughter,  to  show  the  great  desire  I 
have  to  serve  you. 

Sir  J.    Sir,  I  am  obliged  to  you. 

Greg.  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  speak  from  the  very  bottom 
of  my  soul. 

Sir  J.  I  do  believe  you,  sir,  from  the  very  bottom  of 
mine. 

Greg.  What  is  your  daughter's  name? 

Sir  J.  My  daughter's  name  is  Charlotte. 

Greg.  Are  you  sure  she  was  christened  Charlotte  ? 

Sir  J.  No,  sir ;  she  was  christened  Charlotta. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  93 

G-reg.  Hum!  I  bad  rather  she  should  have  been  chris- 
tened Charlotte.  Charlotte  is  a  very  good  name  for  a 
patient ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  the  name  is  often  of  as  much 
service  to  the  patient,  as  the  physician  is.  Pray,  what's 
the  matter  with  your  daughter?  What's  her  distemper? 

Sir  J.  Why,  her  distemper,  doctor,  is,  that  she  has  be- 
come dumb,  and  no  one  can  assign  the  cause;  and  this 
distemper,  sir,  has  kept  back  her  marriage. 

Greg.     Kept  back  her  marriage  ?  why  so  ? 

SirJ.  Because  her  lover  refuses  to  have  her  till  she  's 
cured. 

Greg.  0!  was  ever  such  a  fool,  that  would  not  have  his 
wife  dumb?  Would  to  heaven  my  wife  was  dumb.  I'd 
be  far  from  desiring  to  cure  her.  Does  this  distemper  op- 
press her  very  much? 

Sir  J.     Yes,  sir. 

Greg.     So  much  the  better.     Has  she  any  great  pains? 

Sir  J.    Very  great. 

Greg.  That's  just  as  I  would  have  it.  We  great  phy- 
sicians know  a  distemper  immediately.  I  know  some  of 
the  college  would  call  your  daughter's  distemper  the  Boree, 
or  the  Coupee,  or  the  Sinkee,  or  twenty  other  distempers. 
But  I  give  you  my  word,  sir,  your  daughter  is  nothing 
more  than  dumb.  So  I  'd  have  you  be  very  easy,  for 
there  is  nothing  else  the  matter  with  her ;  if  sjie  were  not 
dumb,  she  would  be  as  well  as  I  am. 

Sir  J.  But  I  should  be  glad  to  know,  doctor,  from 
whence  her  dumbness  proceeds. 

Greg.  Nothing  so  easily  accounted  for.  Her  dumbness 
proceeds  from  her  having  lost  her  speech. 

Sir  J.  But  whence,  if  you  please,  proceeds  her  having 
lost  her  speech  ? 

Greg.  All  our  best  authors  will  tell  you,  it  is  the  im- 
pediment of  the  action  of  the  tongue. 

Sir  J.  But,  if  you  please,  dear  sir,  your  sentiment  upon 
that  impediment. 

Greg.  Aristotle  has,  upon  that  subject,  said  very  fine 
things ;  very  fine  things. 

Sir  J.    I  believe  it,  doctor. 


94  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Greg.  Ah  !  he  was  a  great  man.  He  was  indeed  a  very 
great  man,  who,  upon  that  subject,  was  a  man  that — but, 
to  return  to  our  reasoning.  I  hold  that  this  impediment 
of  the  action  of  the  tongue  is  caused  by  certain  humors, 
which  our  great  physician  calls — humors — humors — ah! 
you  understand  Latin — 

Sir  J.    Not  in  the  least. 

Greg.     What !  not  understand  Latin  ? 

Sir  J.    No,  indeed,  doctor. 

Greg.  Cabricius  arci  Thurum  Cathalimus,  Singulariter 
non.  Haec  musa,  hie,  haec,  hoc,  Genitivo  hujus,  hunc,' 
hanc,  Musse,  Bonus,  bona,  bonum. 

Sir  J.   Ah !  why  did  I  neglect  my  studies  ? 

Jam.     What  a  prodigious  man  is  this! 

Greg.  Besides,  sir,  certain  spirits,  passing  from  the  left 
side,  which  is  the  seat  of  the  liver,  to  the  right,  which  is 
the  seat  of  the  heart,  we  find  the  lungs,  which  we  call  in 
Latin,  Whiskerus,  having  communication  with  the  brain, 
which  we  name  in  Greek,  Jackbootos,  by  means  of  a  hol- 
low vein,  which  we  call  in  Hebrew,  Periwiggus,  meet  in 
the  road  with  the  said  spirits,  which  fill  the  venticles  of 
the  Omotaplasmus,  and  because  the  said  humors  have  a 
certain  malignity — listen  seriously,  I  beg  you — 

Sir  J.    I  do. 

Greg.  Have  a  certain  malignity,  that  is  caused — be  at- 
tentive, if  you  please — 

Sir  J.     I  am. 

Greg.  That  is  caused,  I  say,  by  the  acrimony  of  the 
humors,  engendered  in  the  concavity  of  the  diaphragm ; 
thence  it  arises,  that  these  vapors,  Propriaque  maribus 
tribuunter,  mascula  dicas,  Ut  sunt  divorum.  This,  sir,  is 
the  cause  of  your  daughter's  being  dumb. 

Jam.     O  that  I  had  but  his  tongue  ! 

Sir  J.  It  is  impossible  to  reason  better,  no  doubt.  But, 
dear  sir,  there  is  one  thing.  I  always  thought  till  now, 
that  the  heart  was  on  the  left  side,  and  the  liver  on  the  right 

Greg.  Ay,  sir,  so  they  were  formerly,  but  we  have 
changed  all  that.  The  college,  at  present,  sir,  proceeds 
upon  an  entire  new  method. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  95 

Sir  J.    I  ask  your  pardon,  sir. 

Greg.  Oh,  sir,  there's  no  harm.  You're  not  obliged 
to  know  so  much  as  we  do. 

Sir  J.  Very  true ;  but,  doctor,  what  would  you  have 
done  with  my  daughter  ? 

Greg.  What  would  I  have  done  with  her?  Why,  my 
advice  is,  that  you  immediately  put  her  into  a  bed,  warmed 
with  a  brass  warming-pan.  Cause  her  to  drink  one  quart 
of  spring  water,  mixed  with  one  pint  of  brandy,  six  Seville 
oranges,  and  three  ounces  of  the  best  double  refined  sugar. 

Sir  J.    Why,  this  is  punch,  doctor. 

Greg.  Punch,  sir !  Ay,  sir ;  and  what 's  better  than 
punch,  to  make  people  talk  ?  Never  tell  me  of  your 
juleps,  your  gruels — your — your — this,  and  that,  and 
t'other,  which  are  only  arts  to  keep  a  patient  in  hand  a 
long  time.  I  love  to  do  a  business  all  at  once. 

Sir  J.  Doctor,  I  ask  pardon,  you  shall  be  obeyed. 
(Gives  money.) 

Greg.  But  hold !  Sir  Jasper,  let  me  tell  you,  it  were 
not  amiss  if  you  yourself  took  a  little  lenitive  physic.  I 
shall  prepare  something  for  you. 

Sir  J.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  No,  no,  doctor.  I  have  escaped 
both  doctors  and  distempers  hitherto,  and  I  am  resolved 
the  distemper  shall  pay  me  the  first  visit. 

Greg.  Say  you  so,  sir?  Why,  then,  if  I  can  get  no 
more  patients  here,  I  must  even  seek  'em  elsewhere;  and 
so  humbly  beggo  te  Domine  Doinitii  veniam  goundi  foras. 
(Exit.) 

Sir  J.  Well,  this  is  a  physician  of  vast  capacity,  but 
of  exceeding  odd  humors.  He,  no  doubt,  understands 
himself,  however,  and  I  have  great  faith  in  his  prescrip- 
tion. (Exeunt.)  FEOM  FIELDING. 


96  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 


XXXIV.— REMOVAL  OF  TROOPS  FROM  BOSTON. 

THE  EARL  of  CHATHAM,  (Win.  Pitt,  the  elder,)  was  a  warm  and  in- 
fluential friend  of  America,  during  the  Revolutionary  war.  His 
speeches  are  among  the  richest  specimens  of  eloquence  in  any 
language.  For  some  of  these,  see  McGuffey's  New  Sixth  Eclectic 
Reader. 

If  it  should  be  desired  to  make  the  following  somewhat  shorter,  it 
may  appropriately  end  with  the  sixth  paragraph. 

I  RISE  with  astonishment,  to  see  these  papers  brought  to 
your  table,  at  so  late  a  period  of  this  business.  Papers, 
to  tell  us  what?  Why,  what  all  the  world  knew  before. 
That  the  Americans,  irritated  by  repeated  injuries,  and 
stripped  of  their  inborn  rights  and  dearest  privileges,  have 
resisted,  and  entered  into  associations  for  the  preservation 
of  their  common  liberties. 

Had  the  early  situation  of  the  people  of  Boston  been 
attended  to,  things  would  not  have  come  to  this.  But  the 
infant  complaints  of  Boston  were  literally  treated  like  the 
capricious  squalls  of  a  child,  who,  it  was  said,  did  not  know 
whether  it  was  aggrieved  or  not.  But  full  well  I  knew,  at 
that  time,  that  this  child,  if  not  redressed,  would  soon  as- 
sume the  courage  and  voice  of  a  man.  Full  well  I  knew, 
that  the  sons  of  ancestors,  born  under  the  same  free  con- 
stitution, and  once  breathing  the  same  liberal  air  as  Eng- 
lishmen, would  resist  upon  the  same  principles,  and  on  the 
same  occasions. 

What  has  government  done  ?  They  have  sent  an  armed 
force,  consisting  of  seventeen  thousand  men,  to  dragoon  the 
Bostonians  into  what  is  called  their  duty.  So  far  from 
once  turning  their  eyes  to  the  policy  and  destructive  con- 
sequence of  this  scheme,  they  are  constantly  sending  out 
more  troops.  And  we  are  told  in  the  language  of  menace, 
that,  if  seventeen  thousand  men  wont  do,  fifty  thousand 
shall. 

It  is  true,  my  lords,  with  this  force  they  may  ravage  the 
country.  They  may  waste  and  destroy  as  they  march. 
But,  in  the  progress  of  fifteen  hundred  miles,  can  they 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  97 

occupy  the  places  they  have  passed?  Will  not  a  country, 
which  can  produce  three  millions  of  people,  wronged  arid 
insulted  as  they  are,  start  up  like  hydras  in  every  corner, 
and  gather  fresh  strength  from  fresh  opposition  ?  Nay, 
what  dependence  can  you  have  upon  the  soldiery,  the  un- 
happy engines  of  your  wrath?  They  are  Englishmen,  who 
must  feel  for  the  privileges  of  Englishmen.  Do  you  think 
that  these  men  can  turn  their  arms  against  their  brethren  ? 
Surely  not.  A  victory  must  be  to  them  a  defeat ;  and  car- 
nage, a  sacrifice. 

But  it  is  not  merely. the  three  millions  of  America,  we 
have  to  contend  with  in  this  unnatural  struggle;  many 
more  are  on  their  side,  dispersed  over  the  face  of  this  wide 
empire.  Every  whig  in  this  country  and  in  Ireland  is  with 
them.  Who,  then,  let  me  demand,  has  given,  and  contin- 
ues to  give,  this  strange  and  unconstitutional  advice? 

I  do  not  mean  to  level  at  any  one  man,  or  any  particu- 
lar set  of  men  ;  but  thus  much  I  will  venture  to  declare, 
that,  if  his  majesty  continues  to  hear  such  counselors,  he 
will  not  only  be  badly  advised,  but  undone.  He  may  con- 
tinue indeed  to  wear  his  crown :  but  it  will  not  be  worth 
his  wearing.  Robbed  of  so  principal  a  jewel  as  America, 
it  will  lose  its  luster,  and  no  longer  beam  that  effulgence 
which  should  irradiate  the  brow  of  majesty. 

In  this  alarming  crisis,  I  come,  with  this  paper  in  my 
hand,  to  offer  you  the  best  of  my  experience  and  advice. 
That  is,  that  an  humble  petition  be  presented  to  his  majesty, 
beseeching  him,  that  in  order  to  open  the  way  toward  a 
happy  settlement  of  the  dangerous  troubles  in  America,  it 
may  graciously  please  him,  that  immediate  orders  be  given 
to  General  Gage  to  remove  his  majesty's  forces  from  the 
town  of  Boston. 

And  this,  my  lords,  upon  the  most  mature  and  delibe- 
rate grounds,  is  the  best  advice  I  can  give  you,  at  this 
juncture.  Such  conduct  will  convince  America  that  you 
mean  to  try  her  cause  in  the  spirit  of  freedom  and  inquiry, 
and  not  in  letters  of  blood.  There  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
Every  hour  is  big  with  danger.  Perhaps,  while  I  am  now 
speaking,  the  decisive  blow  is  struck,  which  may  involve 
NEW  EC.  S.— 9 


98  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

millions  in  the  consequence.  And,  believe  me,  the  very 
first  drop  of  blood  which  is  shed,  will  cause  a  wound  which 
may  never  be  healed.  FROM  CHATHAM. 


XXXV,— THE  STAMP  ACT. 

A  CHARGE  is  brought  against  gentlemen  sitting  in  this 
House  of  giving  birth  to  sedition  in  America.  Several 
have  spoken  their  sentiments  with  freedom  against  this 
unhappy  act,  and  that  freedom  has  become  their  crime. 
Sorry  I  am  to  hear  the  liberty  of  speech  in  this  House  im- 
puted as  a  crime.  But  the  imputation  shall  not  discour- 
age me.  The  gentleman  tells  us,  America  is  obstinate; 
America  is  almost  in  open  rebellion.  I  rejoice  that  Amer- 
ica has  resisted.  Three  millions  of  people,  so  dead  to  all 
the  feelings  of  liberty  as  voluntarily  to  let  themselves  be 
made  slaves,  would  have  been  fit  instruments  to  make  slaves 
of  all  the  rest.  I  would  not  debate  a  particular  point  of 
law  with  the  gentleman.  I  know  his  abilities.  But,  for 
the  defense  of  liberty,  upon  a  general  principle,  upon  a 
constitutional  principle,  it  is  a  ground  on  which  I  stand 
firm,  on  which  I  dare  meet  any  man. 

"The  gentleman  boasts  of  his  bounties  to  America.  Are 
not  those  bounties  intended  finally  for  the  benefit  of  this 
kingdom?  If  they  are  not,  he  has  misapplied  the  national 
treasures.  He  asks,  When  were  the  Colonies  emancipated? 
I  desire  to  know  when  they  were  made  slaves !  But  1 
dwell  not  upon  words.  I  will  be  bold  to  affirm,  that  the 
profits  of  Great  Britain  from  the  trade  of  the  Colonies, 
through  all  its  branches,  are  two  millions  a  year.  This  is 
the  fund  that  carried  you  triumphantly  through  the  last 
war.  This  is  the  price  America  pays  for  her  protection. 
And  shall  a  miserable  financier  come,  with  a  boast  that  he 
can  fetch  a  pepper-corn  into  the  exchequer,  by  the  loss  of 
millions  to  the  nation? 

great  deal  has  been  said,  without  doors,  of  the  power, 
of  the  strength,  of  America.  It  is  a  topic  that  ought  to 
be  cautiously  meddled  with.  In  a  good  cause,  the  force 
of  this  country  can  crush  America  to  atoms.  I  know  the 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  99 

valor  of  your  troops.  I  know  the  skill  of  your  officers. 
But  on  this  ground,  I  am  one  who  will  lift  up  my  hands 
against  it.  In  such  a  cause,  even  your  success  would  be 
hazardous.  America,  if  she  fell,  would  fall  like  the  strong 
man.  She  would  embrace  the  pillars  of  the  State,  and  pull 
down  the  Constitution  along  with  her.  Is  this  your  boasted 
peace?  To  sheathe  the  sword,  not  in  its  scabbard,  but  in 
the  bowels  of  your  countrymen  ? 

The  Americans  have  been  wronged.  They  have  been 
driven  to  madness  by  injustice.  Will  you  punish  them  for 
the  madness  you  have  occasioned?  Rather  let  prudence 
and  temper  come  first  from  this  side!  I  will  undertake  for 
America  that  she  will  follow  the  example. 

"  Be  to  her  faults  a  little  blind ; 
Be  to  her  virtues  very  kind." 

Let  the  Stamp  Act  be  repealed;  and  let  the  reason  for  the 
repeal — because  the  Act  was  founded  on  an  erroneous  princi- 
ple— be  assigned.  Let  it  be  repealed  absolutely,  totally, 
and  immediately  !  FROM  CHATHAM. 


XXXVI.— RECONCILIATION  WITH  AMERICA. 

AMERICA,  my  lords,  can  not  be  reconciled  to  this  coun- 
try, she  ought  not  to  be  reconciled,  till  the  troops  of  Britain 
are  withdrawn.  How  can  America  trust  you,  with  the  bay- 
onet at  her  breast?  How  can  she  suppose  that  you  mean 
less  than  bondage  or  death?  The  way  must  be  immedi- 
ately opened  for  reconciliation.  It  will  soon  be  too  late. 
An  hour,  now  lost  in  allaying  ferments  in  America,  may 
produce  years  of  calamity.  Never  will  I  desert,  for  a  mo- 
ment, the  conduct  of  this  weighty  business.  Unless  nailed 
to  my  bed  by  the  extremity  of  sickness,  I  will  pursue  it 
to  the  end.  I  will  knock  at  the  door  of  this  sleeping  and 
confounded  ministry,  and  will,  if  it  be  possible,  rouse  them 
to  a  sense  of  their  danger. 

I  contend  not  for  indulgence,  but  for  justice,  to  America. 
What  is  our  right  to  persist  in  such  cruel  and  vindictive, 
acts  against  a  loyal,  respectable  people?  They  say 'you 


100  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

have  no  right  to  tax  them  without  their  consent.  They 
say  truly.  Representation  and  taxation  must  go  together. 
They  are  inseparable.  I  therefore  urge  and  conjure  your 
lordships  immediately  to  adopt  this  conciliating  measure. 
If  illegal  violences  have  been,  as  is  said,  committed  in  Amer- 
ica, prepare  the  way,  open  the  door  of  possibility,  for 
acknowledgment  and  satisfaction.  But  proceed  not  to  such 
coercion,  such  proscription.  Cease  your  indiscriminate  in- 
flictions. Amerce  not  thirty  thousand.  Oppress  not  three 
millions  ;  irritate  them  not  to  unappeasable  rancor,  for  the 
fault  of  forty  or  fifty. 

Such  severity  of  injustice  must  forever  render  incurable 
the  wounds  you  have  inflicted.  What  though  you  march 
from  town  to  town,  from  province  to  province !  What 
though  you  enforce  a  temporary  and  local  submission !  How 
shall  you  secure  the  obedience  of  the  country  you  leave 
behind  you  in  your  progress?  How  grasp  the  dominion 
of  eighteen  hundred  miles  of  continent,  populous  in  num- 
bers, strong  in  valor,  liberty,  and  the  means  of  resistance? 

The  spirit  which"  now  resists  your  taxation,  in  America, 
is  the  same  which  formerly  opposed  loans,  benevolence, 
and  ship-money,  in  England  ;  the  same  spirit  which  aroused 
all  England,  and,  by  the  Bill  of  Rights,  vindicated  the 
English  Constitution ;  the  same  spirit  which  established 
the  great,  fundamental,  essential  maxim  of  your  liberties, 
that  no  subject  of  England  shall  l>e  taxed  but  by  his  own  con- 
sent. This  glorious  spirit  animates  three  millions  in  Amer- 
ica, who  prefer  poverty,  with  liberty,  to  gilded  chains  and 
sordid  affluence;  and  who  will  die  in  defense  of  their  rights 
as  men,  as  freemen. 

What  shall  oppose  this  spirit,  aided  by  the  congenial 
flame  glowing  in  the  breast  ef  every  Whig  in  England? 
"  'T  is  liberty  to  liberty  engaged,"  that  they  will  defend 
themselves,  their  families,  and  their  country.  In  this  great 
cause  they  are  immovably  allied.  It  is  the  alliance  of  God 
and  nature ;  immutable,  eternal ;  fixed  as  the  firmament  of 
Heaven.  FROM  CHATHAM. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  101 


XXXVII.— ON  AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  KING.— No.  I. 

THIS  and  the  following  extract,  may  be  spoken  separately  or  to- 
gether. 

I  MOST  cheerfully  agree  with  the  first  portion  of  the 
address  moved  by  the  noble  lord.  I  would  even  go  and 
prostrate  myself  at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  were  it  necessary, 
to  testify  my  joy  at  any  event,  which  may  promise  to  add 
to  the  domestic  felicity  of  my  sovereign ;  at  any  thing,  which 
may  seem  to  give  a  further  security  to  the  permanent 
enjoyment  of  the  religious  and  civil  rights  of  my  fellow- 
subjects.  But  while  I  do  this,  I  must,  also,  express  my 
strongest  disapprobation  of  the  address,  and  the  fatal 
measures  which  it  approves. 

It  has  been  customary,  for  the  king,  on  similar  occasions, 
not  to  lead  parliament,  but  to  be  guided  ly  it.  It  has  been 
usual,  I  say,  to  ask  the  advice  of  this  house,  the  hereditary 
great  council  of  the  nation,  not  to  dictate  to  it.  What 
does  this  speech  say?  It  tells  you  of  measures  already 
agreed  upon,  and  very  cavalierly  desires  your  concurrence. 
It,  indeed,  talks  of  wisdom  and  support.  It  counts  on  the 
certainty  of  events  )^et  in  the  womb  of  time;  but  in  point 
of  plan  and  design,  it  is  peremptory  and  dictatorial.  Is 
this  a  proper  language,  fit  to  be  endured?  Is  this  high 
pretension  to  overrule  the  dispositions  of  Providence  itself, 
and  the  will  and  judgment  of  parliament,  justified  by  any 
former  conduct  or  precedent  ? 

No,  it  is  the  language  of  an  ill-founded  confidence :  a 
confidence,  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  supported  hitherto  only 
by  a  succession  of  disappointments,  disgraces,  and  defeats. 
I  am  astonished  how  any  minister  dare  advise  his  majesty 
to  hold  such  a  language  to  your  lordships.  I  would  be 
glad  to  see  the  minister  that  dare  avow  it  in  his  place. 

What  is  the  import  of  this  extraordinary  application? 
What,  but  an  unlimited  confidence  in  those  who  have 
hitherto  misguided,  deceived,  and  misled  you?  It  is,  I 
maintain,  unlimited.  It  desires  you  to  grant  not  what 
you  may  be  satisfied  is  necessary,  but  what  his  majesty's 


102  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

ministers  may  choose  to  think  so;  troops,  fleets,  treaties,  and 
subsidies,  not  yet  revealed.  Should  your  lordships  agree 
to  the  present  address,  you  will  stand  pledged  to  all  this. 
You  can  not  retreat.  It  binds  you  to  the  consequences,  be 
they  what  they  may.  Whoever  gave  this  pernicious  coun- 
sel to  the  king,  ought  to  be  made  answerable  to  this  house, 
and  to  the  nation  at  large,  for  the  consequences.  The 
precedent  is  dangerous  and  unconstitutional. 

Who,  I  say,  has  had  the  temerity  to  tell  the  king  that 
his  affairs  are  in  a  prosperous  condition?  And  who,  of 
course,  is  the  author  of  those  assurances  which  are  this  day 
given  you,  in  order  to  mislead  you?  What  is  the  present 
state  of  this  nation?  It  is  big  with  difficulty  and  danger. 
It  is  full  of  the  most  destructive  circumstances.  I  say, 
my  lords,  it  is  truly  perilous.  What  are  these  little 
islands,  Great  Britain  and  Ireland?  What  is  your  defense? 
Nothing. 

What  is  the  condition  of  your  formidable  and  inveterate 
enemies,  the  two  leading  branches  of  the  house  of  Bourbon? 
They  have  a  formidable  navy.  I  say  their  intentions  are 
hostile.  I  know  it.  Their  coasts  are  lined  with  troops, 
from  the  furthermost  part  of  the  coast  of  Spain  up  to  Dun- 
kirk. What  have  you  to  oppose  them?  Not  five  thousand 
men  in  this  island;  nor  more  in  Ireland;  nor  above  twenty 
ships  of  the  line  manned  and  fit  for  service.  Without 
peace,  without  an  immediate  restoration  of  tranquillity,  thig 
nation  is  ruined.  FROM  CHATHAM. 


XXXVni.— ON  AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  KING.— No.  II. 

NOTE. — Where  a  speech,  like  this,  closes  with  a  question  winch 
requires  the  rising  inflection,  the  falling  inflection  should  be  substi- 
tuted for  the  rising. 

WHAT  has  been  the  conduct  of  our  ministers?  How 
have  they  endeavored  to  conciliate  the  affection  and  obedi- 
ence of  their  American  brethren  ?  They  have  gone  to 
Germany.  They  have  sought  the  alliance  and  assistance 
of  every  pitiful,  beggarly,  insignificant,  paltry  German 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  103 

prince,  to  cut  the  throats  of  their  loyal,  brave,  and  injured 
brethren  in  America.  They  have  entered  into  mercenary 
treaties  with  those  human  butchers,  for  the  purchase  and 
sale  of  human  blood. 

But,  this  is  not  all.  They  have  entered  into  other 
treaties.  They  have  let  the  savages  of  America  loose  upon 
their  innocent,  unoffending  brethren ;  upon  the  weak,  the 
aged,  and  defenseless ;  on  old  men,  women,  and  children  ; 
upon  the  very  babes  upon  the  breast,  to  be  cut,  mangled, 
sacrificed,  broiled,  roasted,  nay,  to  be  literally  eaten  alive. 

These  are  the  allies  Great  Britain  now  has :  carnage, 
desolation,  and  destruction,  wherever  her  arms  are  carried, 
is  her  newly  adopted  mode  of  making  war.  Our  ministers 
have  made  alliances  at  the  German  shambles,  and  with  the 
barbarians  of  America;  with  the  merciless  torturers  of 
their  species.  Where  they  will  next  apply,  I  can  not  tell : 
having  already  scoured  all  Germany  and  America,  to  seek 
the  assistance  of  cannibals  and  butchers. 

The  arms  of  this  country  are  disgraced,  even  in  victory 
as  well  as  defeat.  Is  this  consistent,  my  lords,  with  any 
part  of  our  former  conduct  ?  Was  it  by  means  like  these 
we  arrived  at  that  pinnacle  of  fame  and  grandeur,  which, 
while  it  established  our  reputation  in  every  quarter  of  the 
globe,  gave  the  fullest  testimony  of  our  justice,  mercy, 
and  national  integrity  ?  Was  it  by  the  tomahawk  and 
scalping-knife,  that  British  valor  and  humanity  became 
proverbial,  and  the  triumphs  of  war  and  the  eclat  of  con- 
quest became  but  matters  of  secondary  praise,  when  com- 
pared to  those  of  national  humanity,  and  national  honor? 

Was  it  by  setting  loose  the  savages  of  America,  to  im- 
brue their  hands  in  the  blood  of  our  enemies,  that  the 
duties  of  the  soldier,  the  citizen,  and  the  man,  came  to  be 
united?  Is  this  honorable  warfare?  Does  it  correspond 
with  the  language  of  the  poet,  in 

"The  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war, 
That  makes  ambition  a  virtue?" 

FROM  CHATHAM. 


104  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


XXXIX.— APOSTROPHE  TO  LIBERTY. 

WILLIAM  TELL,  the  Washington  of  Switzerland,  after  having  escaped 
from  the  dungeon  of  the  tyrant  who  had  invaded  his  country,  utters 
the  following. 

ONCE  more  I  breathe  the  mountain  air;  once  more 

I  tread  my  own  free  hills!     My  lofty  soul 

Throws  all  its  fetters  off;  in  its  proud  flight, 

'T  is  like  the  new-fledged  eaglet,  whose  strong  wing 

Soars  to  the  sun  it  long  has  gazed  upon 

With  eye  undazzled.     O !  ye  mighty  race 

That  stand  like  frowning  giants,  fixed  to  guard 

My  own  proud  land;  why  did  ye  not  hurl  down 

The  thundering  avalanche,  when  at  your  feet 

The  base  usurper  stood  ?    A  touch,  a  breath, 

Nay,  even  the  breath  of  prayer,  ere  now,  has  brought 

Destruction  on  the  hunter's  head;  and  yet 

The  tyrant  passed  in  safety.     God  of  Heaven! 

Where  slept  thy  thunderbolts  ? 

Oh !  with  what  pride  I  used 
To  walk  these  hills,  and  look  up  to  my  God! 
This  land  was  free, 

From  end  to  end,  from  cliff  to  lake  't  was  free, 
Free  as  our  torrents  are,  that  leap  our  rocks, 
And  plow  our  valleys; 

Or  as  our  peaks,  that  wear  their  caps  of  snow, 
In  very  presence  of  the  regal  sun  ! 
How  happy  was  I  in  it  then!     I  loved 
Its  very  storms  !    Yes,  I  have  sat  and  eyed 
The  thunder  breaking  from  his  cloud,  and  smiled 
To  see  him  shake  his  lightnings  o'er  my  head, 
And  think  I  had  no  master  save  his  own! 

O  LIBERTY  ! 

Thou  choicest  gift  of  Heaven,  and  wanting  which 
Life  is  as  nothing.     Hast  thou  then  forgot 
Thy  native  home?     Must  the  feet  of  slaves 
Pollute  this  glorious  scene  ?     It  can  not  be. 
Even  as  the  smile  of  Heaven  can  pierce  the  depths 
Of  these  dark  caves,  and  bid  the  wild  flowers  bloom 
In  spots  where  man  has  never  dared  to  tread; 
So  thy  sweet  influence  still  is  seen  amid 
These  beetling  cliffs.     Some  hearts  still  beat  for  thee, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  105 

And  bow  alone  to  Heaven.  Thy  spirit  lives, 
Ay,  and  shall  live,  when  even  the  very  name 
Of  tyrant  is  forgot. 

Lo !  while  I  gaze 

Upon  the  mist  that  wreathes  yon  mountain's  brow, 
The  sunbeam  touches  it,  and  it  becomes 
A  crown  of  glory  on  his  hoary  head. 
O  !  is  not  this  a  presage  of  the  dawn 
Of  freedom  o'er  the  world?    Hear  me,  then,  bright 
And  beaming  Heaven!  while  kneeling  thus,  I  vow 
To  live  for  freedom,  or  with  her  to  die ! 

FROM  KNOWLES. 


XL.— GERTRUDE. 

THE  husband  of  Gertrude  was  condemned  by  a  tyrant  to  die  upon 
the  wheel,  and  was  attended  in  his  last  moments,  with  heroic  fidel- 
ity, by  his  wife.  „ 

HER  hands  were  clasped,  her  dark  eyes  raised, 

The  breeze  threw  back  her  hair; 
Up  to  the  fearful  wheel  she  gazed, 

All  that  she  loved  was  there. 
The  night  was  round  her  clear  and  cold, 

The  holy  heaven  above; 
Its  pale  stars  watching  to  behold 

The  might  of  earthly  love. 

"And  bid  me  not  depart,"  she  cried, 

"My  Rudolph!  say  not  so! 
This  is  no  time  to  quit  thy  side, 

Peace,  peace !  I  can  not  go. 
Hath  the  world  aught  for  me  to  fear 

When  death  is  on  thy  brow  ? 
The  world!  what  means  it?  mine  is  here; 

I  will  not  leave  thee  now! 

^ 

"  I  have  been  with  thee  in  thine  hour 

Of  glory  and  of  bliss, 
Doubt  not  its  memory's  living  power 

To  strengthen  me  through  this! 
And  thou,  mine  honored  love  and  true, 

Bear  on,  bear  nobly  on! 


106  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

We  have  the  bless-ed  Heaven  in  view. 
Whose  rest  shall  soon  be  won." 

And  were  not  these,  high  words  to  flow 

From  Woman's  breaking  heart? 
Through  all  that  night  of  bitterest  woe, 

She  bore  her  lofty  part: 
But  oh !  with  such  a  freezing  eve 

With  such  a  curdling  cheek! 
Love,  love !  of  mortal  agony, 

Thou,  only  thou,  shouldst  speak! 

The  wind  rose  high,  but  with  it  rose 

Her  voice,  that  he  might  hear; 
Perchance  that  dark  hour  brought  repose 

To  happy  bosoms  near; 
While  she  sat  striving  with  despair 

Beside  his  tortured  form, 
And  pouring  her  deep  soul  in  prayer 

Forth  on  the  rushing  storm. 

She  wiped  the  death-damps  from  his  brow, 

With  her  pale  hands  and  soft, 
Whose  touch,  upon  the  lute  chords  low, 

Had  stilled  his  heart  so  oft 
She  spread  her  mantle  o'er  his  breast, 

She  bathed  his  lips  with  dew, 
And  on  his  cheek  such  kisses  pressed, 

As  Joy  and  Hope  ne'er  knew. 

Oh!  lovely  are  ye,  Love  and  Faith, 

Enduring  to  the  last! 
She  had  her  meed;  one  smile  in  death; 

And  his  worn  spirit  passed. 
While  even  as  o'er  a  martyr's  grave, 

She  knelt  on  that  sad  spot, 
And  weeping,  blessed  the  God  who  gave 

Strength  to  forsake  it  not! 

FKOM  MBS.  HEMANS. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  107 


XLL— DESCRIPTION  OF  A  FOP. 

THIS  is  the  apology  of  Hotspur  for  not  delivering  his  prisoners  to 
King  Henry,  and  is  followed,  in  Shakspeare,  by  the  dialogue  which 
forms  the  succeeding  exercise.  It  may  be  spoken  independently,  or 
in  connection  with  that. 

MY  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dressed, 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom :  and  his  chin,  new  reaped, 
Showed  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest  home. 

He  was  perfu'-med  like  a  milliner. 
Betwixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet-box,  which,  ever  and  anon, 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took 't  away  again. 
And  still  he  smiled,  and  talked ; 
And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 
He  called  them,  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly,  unhandsome  corse, 
Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms, 
He  questioned  me ;  among  the  rest  demanded 
My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 
I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 
To  be  so  pestered  with  a  popinjay, 
Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience, 
Answered,  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what; 
He  should,  or  should  not. 

For  he  made  me  mad, 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 
And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman, 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds:  (Heaven  save  the  mark!) 
And  telling  me,  the  sovereign' st  thing  on  earth 
Was  parmacity,  for  an  inward  bruise ; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
That  villainous  saltpeter  should  be  digged 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
Which  many  a  good,  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 
So  cowardly ;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 


108  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

This  bald,  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said; 
And,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation, 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 
FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


XLII— HOTSPUR  AND  KING  HENRY  IV. 

King  Henry.     You  still  deny  your  prisoners, 
But  with  proviso  and  exception, 
That  we,  at  our  own  charge,  shall  ransom  straight 
Your  brother-in-law,  the  foolish  Mortimer ! 
No ;  on  the  barren  mountains  let  him  starve ! 
For  I  shall  never  hold  that  man  my  friend, 
Whose  tongue  shall  ask  me  for  one  penny  cost 
To  ransom  home  revolted  Mortimer. 

Hotspur.     Revolted  Mortimer ! 
He  never  did  fall  off,  my  sovereign  liege, 
But  by  the  chance  of  war. 

K.  Hen.     Thou  dost  belie  him,  Percy,  thou  dost  belie  him. 
Art  thou  not  ashamed?     But,  sirrah,  henceforth 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer. 
Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means, 
Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
As  will  displease  you.     (Exit  King  Henry.) 

Hot.     And  if  the  devil  come  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  them.     I  will  after  straight, 
And  tell  him  so;  for  I  will  ease  my  heart, 
Although  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 
(Enter  Worcester.) 

Worcester.     What!  drunk  with  choler?  Stay  and  pause  awhile. 

Hot.     Speak  of  Mortimer  ? 
Zounds,  I  will  speak  of  him ;  and  let  iny  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him ! 
In  his  behalf,  I'll  empty  all  these  veins, 
And  shed  my  dear  blood,  drop  by  drop,  in  the  dust, 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  in  the  air  as  this  unthankful  king, 
As  this  ingrate  and  cankered  Bolingbroke ! 

Wor.    Who  struck  this  heat  up  ? 

Hot.     He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners; 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  109 

And  when  I  urged  the  ransom  once  again 
Of  iny  wife's  brother,  then  his  cheek  looked  pale; 
And  on  my  face  he  turned  an  eye  of  death, 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

War.     Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more. 
And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontent 
I  '11  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous ; 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit, 
As  to  o'erwalk  a  current,  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot.     If  he  fall  in,  good-night !  or  sink  or  swim, 
Send  danger  from  the  east  unto  the  west, 
So  honor  cross  it  from  the  north  to  south, 
And  let  them  grapple.     O !  the  blood  more  stirs 
To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  start  a  hare. 

Wor.     (Aside.)     Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot.     Methihks  it  were  an  easy  leap, 
To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep, 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drown-ed  honor  by  the  locks ; 
So  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  wear, 
Without  a  rival,  all  her  dignities. 
But  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship ! 

Wor.     (Aside.)     He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here, 
But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend. 
(Aloud.)     Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while. 

Hot.     I  cry  you  mercy. 

Wor.    Those  same  noble  Scots, 
That  are  your  prisoners — 

Hot.     I'll  keep  them  all; 
He  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them,  not  one; 
I'll  keep  them,  by  this  hand. 

Wor.     You  start  away, 
And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 

Hot.     Nay,  I  will ;  that's  flat :  |  TJ-JT  I  V  E  R  C 

He  said  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer;     %    ^ 
Forbade  my  tongue  to  speak  of  Mortimer ;   ^T<f  f  *«,? 
But  I  will  find  him  when  he  lies  asleep, 
And  in  his  ear  I  '11  hallo — Mortimer ! 
Nay,  I'll  have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  t'o  speak 


110  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Nothing  but  Mortimer,  and  give  it  him, 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion. 

Wor.   Hear  you,  cousin,  a  word. 

Hot.     All  studies  here  I  solemnly  defy, 
Save  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Bolingbroke. 
And  that  same  sword-and-buckler  Prince  of  Wales, 
But  that  I  think  his  father  loves  him  not, 
And  would  be  glad  he  met  with  some  mischance, 
I'd  have  him  poisoned  with  a  pot  of  ale. 

Wor.     Farewell,  kinsman !     I  will  talk  to  you 
When  you  are  better  tempered  to  attend. 

Hot.     Why,  look  you,  I  am  whipped  and  scourged  with  rods, 
Nettled,  and  stung  with  pismires,  when  I  hear 
Of  this  vile  politician,  Bolingbroke ! 

In  Richard's  time What  do  you  call  the  place? 

A  plague  upon't!  it  is  in  Gloucestershire; 
'Twas  where  the  madcap  duke  his  uncle  kept, 
His  uncle  York;  where  I  first  bowed  my  knee 
Unto  this  king  of  smiles,  this  Bolingbroke, 
When  you  and  he  came  back  from  Ravenspurg. 

Wor.   At  Berkley  Castle. 

Hot.     You  say  true. 
Why,  what  a  candy  deal  of  courtesy 
This  fawning  greyhound  then  did  proffer  me ! 
Look,  "when  his  infant  fortune  came  to  age," 
And,  "gentle  Harry  Percy,"  and,  "kind  cousin!" 
O,  out  upon  such  cozeners !     Heaven  forgive  me ! 
Good  uncle,  tell  your  tale,  for  I  have  done. 

Wor.     Nay,  if  you  have  not,  to 't  again ; 
I'll  stay  your  leisure. 

Hot.     I  have  done,  in  faith. 

Wor.   Then  once  more  to  your  Scottish  prisoners. 
Deliver  them  up  without  their  ransom  straight, 
And  make  the  Douglas'  son  your  only  help. 
When  time  is  ripe,  which  will  be  suddenly, 
I'll  steal  to  Glendower  and  Lord  Mortimer, 
Where  you  and  Douglas,  and  our  powers  at  once 
(As  I  will  fashion  it,)  shall  happily  meet, 
To  bear  our  fortunes  in  our  own  strong  arms. 

Hot.     Uncle,  adieu.     O  let  the  hours  be  short, 
Till  fields,  and  blows,  and  groans,  applaud  our  sport ! 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  HI 


XLIII— HOTSPUR'S  SOLILOQUY. 

HOTSPUR,  having  joined  the  plot  against  the  king,  as  hinted  at  in 
the  preceding  dialogue,  corresponds  with  others  upon  the  subject. 
In  the  following  piece,  he  enters  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  upon  the 
contents  of  which  he  comments  as  he  reads  them.  It  may  be  spoken 
alone,  or  in  connection  with  the  preceding. 

"  BUT  for  my  own  part,  my  lord,  I  could  be  well  con- 
tented to  be  there,  in  respect  of  the  love  I  bear  your 
house."  He  could  be  contented  to  be  there !  Why  is  he 
'not  then?  In  respect  of  the  love  he  bears  our  house! 
He  shows  in  this,  he  loves  his  own  barn  better  than  he 
loves  our  house.  Let  me  see  some  more.  "  The  purpose 
you  undertake  is  dangerous." 

Why,  that's  certain.  'Tis  dangerous  to  take  a  cold,  to 
sleep,  to  drink.  But  I  tell  you,  my  lord  Fool,  out  of  thi3 
nettle  danger,  we  pluck  the  flower  safety.  "  The  purpose 
you  undertake  is  dangerous  ;  the  friends  you  have  named, 
uncertain ;  the  time  itself,  unsorted ;  and  your  whole  plot 
too  light  for  the  counterpoise  of  so  great  an  opposition." 

Say  you  so,  say  you  so  ?  I  say  unto  you  again,  you  are 
a  shallow,  cowardly  hind,  and  you  lie.  What  a  lack-brain 
is  this !  Our  plot  is  a  good  plot  as  ever  was  laid ;  our 
friends,  true  and  constant;  a  good  plot,  good  friends,  and 
full  of  expectation  ;  an  excellent  plot,  very  good  friends. 
What  a  frosty- spirited  rogue  is  this!  Why,  my  lord, of 
York  commends  the  plot,  and  the  general  course  of  the 
action. 

By  this  hand,  if  I  were  now  by  this  rascal,  I  could 
brain  him  with  his  lady's  fan.  Is  there  not  my  fathert 
my  uncle,  and  myself;  Lord  Edmund  Mortimer,  my  lord 
of  York,  and  Owen  Glendower?  Is  there  not,  besides,  the 
Douglas?  Have  I  not  all  their  letters,  to  meet  me  in 
arms  by  the  ninth  of  the  next  month  ?  And  are  there  not 
some  of  them  set  forward  already?  What  a  pagan  rascal 
is  this!  an  infidel!  Ha!  you  shall  see  now,  in  very  sin- 
cerity of  fear  and  cold  heart,  will  he  to  the  king,  and  lay 
open  all  x)ur  proceedings.  Oh  !  I  could  divide  myself,  and 


112  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

go  to  buffets,  for  moving  such  a  dish  of  skimmed  milk  with 
BO  honorable  an  action  !  Hang  him !  let  him  tell  the  king. 
We  are  prepared,  I  will  set  forward  to-night. 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


XLIV.— PARTITION  OF  POLAND. 

WHAT  was  the  conduct  of  your  own  allies  to  Poland? 
Is  there  a  single  atrocity  of  the  French  in  Italy,  in  Swit- 
zerland, in  Egypt,  if  you  please,  more  unprincipled  and  in- 
human than  that  of  Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia,  in 
Poland?  What  has  there  been  in  the  conduct  of  the 
French  to  foreign  powers ;  what  in  the  violation  of  solemn 
treaties ;  what  in  the  plunder,  devastation,  and  dismember- 
ment of  unoffending  countries;  what  in  the  horrors  and 
murders  perpetrated  upon  the  subdued  victims  of  their 
rage  in  any  district  which  they  have  overrun,  worse  than 
the  conduct  of  those  three  great  powers  in  the  miserable, 
devoted,  and  trampled-on  kingdom  of  Poland? 

O,  but  you  "regretted  the  partition  of  Poland!"  Yes, 
regretted !  You  regretted  the  violence,  and  that  is  all  you 
did.  You  united  yourselves  with  the  actors.  You,  in  fact, 
by  your  acquiescence,  confirmed  the  atrocity.  But  they 
are  your  allies ;  and  though  they  overran  and  divided 
Poland,  there  was  nothing,  perhaps,  in  the  manner  of  do- 
ing it,  which  stamped  it  with  peculiar  infamy  and  disgrace. 
The  conqueror  of  Poland,  perhaps,  was  merciful  and  mild! 
He  was  "  as  much  superior  to  Bonaparte  in  bravery,  and 
in  the  discipline  which  he  maintained,  as  he  was  superior 
in  virtue  and  humanity !  He  was  animated  by  the  purest 
principles  of  Christianity,  and  was  restrained  in  his  career 
by  the  benevolent  precepts  which  it  inculcates!"  Was  he? 

Let  unfortunate  Warsaw,  and  the  miserable  inhabitants 
of  the  suburb  of  Praga  in  particular,  tell !  What  do  we 
understand  to  have  been  the  conduct  of  this  magnanimous 
hero,  with  whom,  it  seems,  Bonaparte  is  not  to  be  com- 
pared? He  entered  the  suburb  of  Praga,  the  most  popu- 
lous suburb  of  Warsaw,  and  there  he  let  his  soldiery  loose 
on  the  miserable,  unarmed,  and  unresisting  people !  Men, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  113 

women,  and  children,  nay,  infants  at  the  breast,  were 
doomed  to  one  indiscriminate  massacre !  Thousands  of 
them  were  inhumanly,  wantonly  butchered !  And  for 
what? 

Because  they  had  dared  to  join  in  a  wish  to  meliorate 
their  own  condition  as  a  people,  and  to  improve  their  con- 
stitution, which  had  been  confessed,  by  their  own  sovereign, 
to  be  in  want  of  amendment.  And  such  is  the  hero  upon 
whom  the  cause  of  "  religion  and  social  order  "  is  to  repose! 
And  such  is  the  man  whom  we  praise  for  his  discipline  and 
his  virtue,  and  whom  we  hold  out  as  our  boast  and  our  de- 
pendence ;  while  the  conduct  of  Bonaparte  unfits  him  to  be 
even  treated  with  as  an  enemy !  FROM  Fox. 


XLV.— LEGISLATURE  OF  IRELAND.— No.  I. 

THIS  and  the  following  exercise  are  extracts  from  a  speech  deliv- 
ered in  opposition  to  a  bill  for  abolishing  the  Legislature  of  Ireland. 
They  may  be  spoken  separately,  or  as  one. 

IN  the  most  express  terms  I  deny  the  competency  of  Par- 
liament to  abolish  the  Legislature  of  Ireland.  I  warn  you, 
do  not  dare  to  lay  your  hand  on  the  constitution.  I  tell 
you,  that  if,  circumstanced  as  you  are,  you  pass  an  act 
which  surrenders  the  government  of  Ireland  to  the  English 
parliament,  it  will  be  a  nullity,  and  that  no  man  in  Ire- 
land will  be  bound  to  obey  it. 

I  make  the  assertion  deliberately.  I  repeat  it,  and  I 
caU  on  any  man  who  hears  me,  to  take  down  my  words. 
You  have  not  been  elected  for  this  purpose.  You  are 
appointed  to  make  laws  and  not  legislatures.  You  are 
appointed  to  act  under  the  constitution,  not  to  alter  it. 
You  are  appointed  to  exercise  the  functions  of  legislators, 
and  not  to  transfer  them.  If  you  do  so,  your  act  is  a  disso- 
lution of  the  government.  You  resolve  society  into  its 
original  elements,  and  no  man  in  the  land  is  bound  to 
obey  you. 

When  you  transfer,  you  abdicate,  and  the  great  original 
trust  results  to  the  people  from  whom  it  issued.  Yourselves 
NEW  EC.  S.— 10 


114  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

you  may  extinguish,  but  parliament  you  can  not  extin- 
guish. It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  It  is 
enshrined  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  constitution.  It  is  im- 
mortal as  the  island  which  it  protects.  As  well  might  the 
frantic  suicide  hope  that  the  act,  which  destroys  his  mise- 
rable body  should  extinguish  his  eternal  soul.  Again,  I 
therefore  warn  you,  do  not  dare  to  lay  your  hands  on  the 
constitution.  It  is  above  your  power. 

I  do  not  say  that  the  parliament  and  the  people,  by  mu- 
tual consent  and  cooperation,  may  not  change  the  form 
of  the  constitution.  Whenever  such  a  case  arises,  it  must 
be  decided  on  its  own  merits.  But  that  is  not  this  case. 
If  government  considers  this  a  season  peculiarly  fitted  for 
experiments  on  the  constitution,  they  may  call  on  the  peo- 
ple. I  ask  you,  are  you  ready  to  do  so  ? 

Are  you  ready  to  abide  the  event  of  such  an  appeal  ? 
What  is  it  you  must,  in  that  event,  submit  to  the  people? 
Not  this  particular  project,  for  if  you  dissolve  the  present 
form  of  government,  they  become  free  to  choose  any 
other.  You  fling  them  to  the  fury  of  the  tempest.  You 
must  call  on  them  to  unhouse  themselves  of  the  estab- 
lished constitution,  and  to  fashion  to  themselves  another. 
I  ask  again,  is  this  the  time  for  an  experiment  of  that 
nature  ? 

Thank  Grod,  the  "people  have  manifested  no  such  wish. 
So  far  as  they  have  spoken,  their  voice  is  decidedly  against 
this  daring  innovation.  You  know  that  no  voice  has  been 
uttered  in  its  favor.  You  can  not  be  infatuated  enough  to 
take  confidence  from  the  silence  which  prevails  in  some 
parts  of  the  kingdom.  If  you  know  how  to  appreciate 
that  silence,  it  is  more  formidable  than  the  most  clamorous 
opposition.  You  may  be  rived  and  shivered  by  the  light- 
ning, before  you  hear  the  peal  of  the  thunder ! 

FROM  PLUNKET. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  115 


XL VI.— LEGISLATURE  OF  IRELAND.— No.  II. 

LET  me  ask  you,  how  was  the  late  rebellion  put  down  ? 
By  the  zeal  and  loyalty  of  the  gentlemen  of  Ireland  ral- 
lying around — what?  A  reed  shaken  by  the  winds,  a 
wretched  apology  for  a  minister  who  never  knew  how  to 
give  or  where  to  seek  protection  ?  No  !  but  round  the  Zaws, 
and  constitution,  and  independence  of  the  country.  What 
were  the  affections  and  motives  that  called  us  into  action? 
To  protect  our  families,  our  properties,  and  our  liberties. 

I  thank  the  administration  for  attempting  this  measure. 
They  are,  without  intending  it,  putting  an  end  to  our  dis- 
sensions. Through  this  black  cloud  which  they  have  col- 
lected over  us,  I  see  the  light  breaking  in  upon  this  unfor- 
tunate country.  They  have  composed  our  dissension  j  not 
by  fomenting  the  embers  of  a  lingering  and  subdued 
rebellion :  not  by  hallooing  the  Protestant  against  the 
Catholic,  arid  the  Catholic  against  the  Protestant :  not  by 
committing  the  North  against  the  South :  not  by  incon- 
sistent appeals  to  local  or  to  party  prejudices.  No  !  but  by 
the  avowal  of  this  atrocious  conspiracy  against  the  liberties 
of  Ireland,  they  have  subdued  every  petty  and  subordinate 
distinction. 

They  have  united  every  rank  and  description  of  men 
by  the  pressure  of  this  grand  and  momentous  subject. 
And  I  tell  them,  that  they  will  see  every  honest  and  inde- 
pendent man  in  Ireland  rally  around  her  constitution,  and 
merge  every  consideration  in  his  opposition  to  this  ungen- 
erous and  odious  measure. 

For  my  own  part,  I  will  resist  it  to  the  last  gasp  of  my 
existence,  and  with  the  last  drop  of  my  blood.  When  I 
feel  the  hour  of  my  dissolution  approaching,  I  will,  like 
the  father  of  Hannibal,  take  my  children  to  the  altar,  and 
swear  them  to  eternal  hostility  against  the  invaders  of  their 
country's  freedom.  I  shall  be  proud  to  think  my  name 
may  be  handed  down  to  posterity  in  the  same  roll  with  those 
disinterested  patriots,  who  have  successfully  resisted  the 
enemies  of  their  country. 


116  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKEE. 

I  shall  bear  in  my  heart  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  my  duty,  and  in  the  hour  of  death  I  shall  not  be 
haunted  by  the  reflection  of  having  basely  sold,  or  meanly 
abandoned,  the  liberties  of  my  native  land.  Can  every 
man  who  gives  his  vote  on  the  other  side,  this  night  lay 
his  hand  upon  his  heart  and  make  the  same  declaration  ? 
/  hope  so  !  It  will  be  well  for  his  peace.  But  if  he  can 
not,  the  indignation  and  abhorrence  of  his  countrymen 
will  accompany  him  through  life,  and  the  curses  of  his 
children  will  follow  him  to  the  grave.  FROM  PLUNKET. 


XLVIL—  AMERICA. 

IF,  as  a  man,  I  venerate  the  mention  of  America,  what 
must  be  my  feelings  toward  her  as  an  Irishman.  Never, 
oh,  never,  while  memory  remains,  can  Ireland  forget  the 
home  of  her  emigrant,  and  the  asylum  of  her  exile.  No 
matter  whether  their  sorrows  sprung  from  the  errors  of 
enthusiasm,  or  the  realities  of  suffering;  from  fancy  or 
infliction.  That  must  be  reserved  for  the  scrutiny  of  those 
whom  the  lapse  of  time  shall  acquit  of  partiality.  It  is  for 
the  men  of  other  ages  to  investigate  and  record  it.  But 
surely  it  is  for  the  men  of  every  age  to  hail  the  hospitality 
that  received  the  shelterless,  and  love  the  feeling  that 
befriended  the  unfortunate. 

Search  creation  round,  where  can  you  find  a  country  that 
presents  so  sublime  a  view,  so  interesting  an  anticipation? 
What  noble  institutions!  What  a  comprehensive  policy! 
What  a  wise  equalization  of  every  political  advantage! 
The  oppressed  of  all  countries,  the  martyrs  of  every  creed, 
the  innocent  victim  of  despotic  arrogance  or  superstitious 
frenzy,  may  there  find  refuge:  his  industry  encouraged,  his 
piety  respected,  his  ambition  animated:  with  no  restraint, 
but  those  laws  which  are  the  same  to  all,  and  no  distinc- 
tion but  that  which  his  merit  may  originate. 

Who  can  deny  that  the  existence  of  such  a  country  pre- 
sents a  subject  for  human  congratulation?  Who  can  deny, 
that  its  gigantic  advancement  offers  a  field  for  the  most 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  117 

rational  conjecture  ?  At  the  end  of  the  very  next  century, 
if  she  proceeds  as  she  seems  to  promise,  what  a  wondrous 
spectacle  may  she  not  exhibit!  Who  shall  say  for  what 
purpose  a  mysterious  Providence  may  not  have  designed 
her? 

Who  shall  say,  that  when,  in  its  follies  or  its  crimes,  the 
old  world  may  have  interred  all  the  pride  of  its  power,  and 
all  the  pomp  of  its  civilization,  human  nature  may  not  find 
its  destined  renovation  in  the  new?  For  myself,  I  have  no 
doubt  of  it.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt,  that  when  our 
temples  and  our  trophies  shall  have  moldered  into  dust; 
when  the  glories  of  our  name  shall  be  but  the  legend  of 
tradition,  and  the  light  of  our  achievements  live  only  in 
song;  philosophy  will  rise  again  in  the  sky  of  her  Franklin, 
and  glory  rekindle  at  the  urn  of  her  Washington. 

FROM  PHILLIPS. 


XLVIII.— FAMINE  IN  IRELAND. 

FELLOW-CITIZENS:  It  is  no  ordinary  cause  that  has 
brought  together  this  vast  assemblage,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. We  have  met,  not  to  prepare  ourselves  for  political 
contests.  We  have  met,  not  to  celebrate  the  achievements 
of  those  gallant  men  who  have  planted  our  victorious 
standards  in  the  heart  of  an  enemy's  country.  We  have 
assembled,  not  to  respond  to  shouts  of  triumph  from  the 
West,  but  to  answer  the  cry  of  want  and  suffering  which 
comes  from  the  East.  The  Old  World  stretches  out  her 
arms  to  the  new.  The  starving  parent  supplicates  the 
young  and  vigorous  child  for  bread. 

There  lies,  upon  the  other  side  of  the  wide  Atlantic,  a 
beautiful  island,  famous  in  story  and  in  song.  It  has  given 
to  the  world  more  than  its  share  of  genius  and  of  great- 
ness. It  has  been  prolific  in  statesmen,  warriors,  and 
poets.  Its  brave  and  generous  sons  have  fought  success- 
fully all  battles  but  their  own.  In  wit  and  humor  it  has 
no  equal ;  while  its  harp,  like  its  history,  moves  to  tears 
by  its  sweet  but  melancholy  pathos. 

Into  this  fair  region,  Grod  has  seen  fit  to  send  the  most 


118  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

terrible  of  all  those  fearful  ministers  who  fulfill  his  inscru- 
table decrees.  The  earth  has  failed  to  give  her  increase. 
The  common  mother  has  forgotten  her  offspring,  and  she 
no  longer  affords  them  their  accustomed  nourishment. 
Famine,  gaunt  and  ghastly  famine,  has  seized  a  nation 
with  its  strangling  grasp.  Unhappy  Ireland,  in  the  sad 
woes  of  the  present,  forgets,  for  a  moment,  the  gloomy  his- 
tory of  the  past. 

Oh  !  it  is  terrible,  that,  in  this  beautiful  world,  which 
the  good  God  has  given  us,  and  in  which  there  is  plenty 
for  us  all,  men  should  die  of  starvation  !  When  a  man 
dies  of  disease,  he  alone  endures  the  pain.  Around  his 
pillow  are  gathered  sympathizing  friends,  who,  if  they  can 
not  keep  back  the  deadly  messenger,  cover  his  face,  and 
conceal  the  horrors  of  his  visage,  as  he  delivers  his  stern 
mandate.  In  battle,  in  the  fullness  of  his  pride  and 
strength,  little  recks  the  soldier  whether  the  hissing  bullet 
sings  his  sudden  requiem,  or  the  cords  of  life  are  severed 
by  the  sharp  steel. 

But  he  who  dies  of  hunger,  wrestles  alone,  day  after  day, 
with  his  grim  and  unrelenting  enemy.  He  has  no  friends 
to  cheer  him  in  the  terrible  conflict ;  for,  if  he  had  friends, 
how  could  he  die  of  hunger?  He  has  not  the  hot  blood 
of  the  soldier  to  maintain  him ;  for  his  foe,  vampire-like, 
has  exhausted  his  veins.  Famine  comes  not  up,  like  a 
brave  enemy,  storming,  by  a  sudden  onset,  the  fortress 
that  resists.  Famine  besieges.  He  draws  his  lines  around 
the  doomed  garrison.  He  cuts  off  all  supplies.  He  never 
summons  to  surrender ;  for  he  gives  no  quarter. 

Alas !  for  poor  human  nature,  how  can  it  sustain  this 
fearful  warfare  ?  Day  by  day,  the  blood  recedes ;  the  flesh 
deserts ;  the  muscles  relax,  and  the  sinews  grow  powerless. 
At  last  the  mind,  which,  at  first,  had  bravely  nerved  itself 
for  the  contest,  gives  way,  under  the  mysterious  influences 
which  govern  its  union  with  the  body.  Then  the  victim 
begins  to  doubt  the  existence  of  an  overruling  Providence. 
He  hates  his  fellow-men,  and  glares  upon  them  with  the 
longings  of  a  cannibal,  and,  it  may  be,  dies  blaspheming. 

This   is  one   of  those   cases,  in  which  we  may,  without, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  119 

impiety,  assume,  as  it  were,  the  function  of  Providence. 
Who  knows  but  that  one  of  the  very  objects  of  this  calam- 
ity, is  to  test  the  benevolence  and  worthiness  of  us,  upon 
whom  unlimited  abundance  is  showered  ?  In  the  name 
then  of  common  humanity,  I  invoke  your  aid  in  behalf  of 
starving  Ireland.  He,  who  is  able,  and  will  not  aid  such 
a  cause,  is  not  a  man,  and  has  no  right  to  wear  the  form. 
He  should  be  sent  back  to  Nature's  mint,  and  re-issued  as 
a  counterfeit  on  humanity,  of  Nature's  baser  metal. 

FROM  S.  S.  PKENTISS. 


XLIX.— ABOU  BEN  ADEEM. 

ABOU  BEN  ADHEM,  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And,  to  the  presence  in  the  room,  he  said, 
"What  writest  thou?" 

The  vision  raised  its  head, 

And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  "The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord!" 

"And  is  mine  one?"  asked  Abou.     "Nay,  not  so," 

Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spake  more  low, 

But  cheerly  still;  and  said,  "I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  night 
It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest; 
And  lo !  Ben  Adhem' s  name  led  all  the  rest! 

FKOM  LEIGH  HUNT. 


120  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


L.— RESIGNATION. 

THERE  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors, 

Amid  these  earthly  damps ; 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers, 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  death!    What  seems  so,  is  transition; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  death. 

She  is  not  dead ;  the  child  of  our  affection  ; 

But  gone  unto  that  school, 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection; 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

Day  after  day,  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her; 

For  when  with  raptures  wild 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her, 

She  will  not  be  a  child; 

But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  mansion, 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace; 
And  beautiful,  with  all  the  soul's  expansion, 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

FROM  LONGFELLOW. 


LI.— THE  BELEAGUERED  CITY. 

I  HAVE  read,  in  some  old  marvelous  tale, 
Some  legend  strange  and  vague, 

That  a  midnight  host  of  specters  pale 
Beleaguered  the  walls  of  Prague. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  121 

Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream, 

With  the  wan  moon  overhead, 
There  stood,  as  in  an  awful  dream, 

The  army  of  the  dead. 

White  as  a  sea-fog,  landward  bound, 

The  spectral  camp  was  seen, 
And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound, 

The  river  flowed  between. 

No  other  voice,  nor  sound  was  there, 

No  drum,  nor  sentry's  pace; 
The  mist-like  banners  clasped  the  air, 

As  clouds  with  clouds  embrace. 

But,  when  the  old  cathedral  bell 

Proclaimed  the  morning  prayer, 
The  white  pavilions  rose  and  fell 

On  the  alarm-ed  air. 

Down  the  broad  valley  fast  and  far, 

The  troubled  army  fled; 
Up  rose  the  glorious  morning  star, 

The  ghastly  host  was  dead. 

I  have  read,  in  the  marvelous  heart  of  man, 

That  strange  and  mystic  scroll, 
That  an  army  of  phantoms  vast  and  wan 

Beleaguer  the  human  soul. 

Encamped  beside  Life's  rushing  stream 

In  Fancy's  misty  light, 
Gigantic  shapes  and  shadows  gleam, 

Portentous  through  the  night 

Upon  its  midnight  battleground, 

The  spectral  camp  is  seen, 
And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound, 

Flows  the  River  of  Life  between. 

No  other  voice,  nor  sound  is  there, 

In  the  army  of  the  grave ; 
No  other  challenge  breaks  the  air, 

But  the  rushing  of  Life's  wave. 

And  when  the  solemn  and  deep  church-bell 

Entreats  the  soul  to  pray, 
The  midnight  phantoms  feel  the  spell, 

The  shadows  sweep  away. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 11 


122  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

Down  the  broad  vale  of  Tears  afar 
The  spectral  camp  is  fled; 

Faith  shineth  as  a  morning  star, 
Our  ghastly  fears  are  dead. 

FKOM  LONGFELLOW. 


LIT.— BREACH  OF  PROMISE.— No.  I. 

Tins  and  the  following  may  be  spoken  as  one  piece,  or  separately, 

You  have  heard  from  my  learned  friend,  gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  that  this  is  an  action  for  a  breach  of  promise 
of  marriage,  in  which  the  damages  are  laid  at  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds.  The  plaintiff,  gentlemen,  is  a  widow ;  yes, 
gentlemen,  a  widow.  With  her  little  boy,  her  only  child, 
the  desolate  widow  shrunk  from  the  world,  and  courted  the 
retirement  and  tranquillity  of  Goswell-street.  Here  she 
placed  in  her  front  parlor  window  a  written  placard,  bear- 
ing this  inscription:  "Apartments,  furnished,  for  a  single 
gentleman.  Inquire  within." 

Mrs.  Bardell's  opinions  of  the  opposite  sex,  gentlemen, 
were  derived  from  a  .long  contemplation  of  the  inestimable 
qualities  of  her  lost  husband.  She  had  no  fear;  she  had 
no  distrust;  all  was  confidence  and  reliance.  "Mr.  Bar- 
dell,"  said  the  widow,  "was  a  man  of  honor.  Mr.  Bardell 
was  a  man  of  his  word.  Mr.  Bardell  was  no  deceiver.  Mr. 
Bardell  was  once  a  single  gentleman  himself.  To  single 
gentleman  I  look  for  protection,  for  assistance,  for  comfort 
and  consolation.  In  single  gentlemen  I  shall  perpetually 
see  something  to  remind  me  of  what  Mr.  Bardell  was,  when 
he  first  won  my  young  anvd  untried  affections.  To  a  single 
gentleman,  then,  shall  my  lodgings  be  let." 

Actuated  by  this  beautiful  and  touching  impulse,  (among 
the  best  impulses  of  our  imperfect  nature,  gentlemen,)  the 
lonely  and  desolate  widow  dried  her  tears,  furnished  her 
first  floor,  caught  her  innocent  boy  to  her  maternal  bosom, 
and  put  the  bill  up  in  her  parlor  window.  Did  it  remain 
there  long  ?  No.  The  serpent  was  on  the  watch  ;  the  train 
was  laid ;  the  mine  was  preparing ;  the  sapper  and  miner 
was  at  work ! 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  123 

Before  the  bill  had  been  in  the  parlor  window  three 
days — three  days,  gentlemen — a  being,  erect  upon  two  legs, 
and  bearing  all  the  outward  semblance  of  a  man,  and  not 
of  a  monster,  knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Bardell's  house. 
He  inquired  within ;  he  took  the  lodgings ;  and  on  the 
very  next  day,  he  entered  into  possession  of  them.  This 
man  was  Pickwick;  Pickwick,  the  defendant. 

Of  this  man  I  will  say  little.  The  subject  presents  but 
few  attractions;  and  I,  gentlemen,  am  not  the  man,  nor  are 
you,  gentlemen,  the  men,  to  delight  in  the  contemplation 
of  revolting  heartlessness,  and  of  systematic  viilany.  I  say 
systematic  viilany,  gentlemen.  And  when  I  say  systematic 
viilany,  let  me  tell  the  defendant,  Pickwick,  if  he  be  in 
court,  as  I  am  informed  he  is,  that  it  would  have  been 
more  decent  in  him,  more  becoming,  if  he  had  stayed 
away. 

Let  me  tell  him,  further,  that  a  counsel,  in  the  discharge 
of  his  duty,  is  neither  to  be  intimidated,  nor  bullied,  nor 
put  down ;  and  that  any  attempt  to  do  either  the  one  or 
the  other,  will  recoil'  on  the  head  of  the  attempter,  be  he 
plaintiff,  or  be  he  defendant ;  be  his  name  Pickwick,  or 
Noakes,  or  Stoakes,  or  Stiles,  or  Brown,  or  Thompson. 

FROM  DICKENS. 


LIU.— BREACH  OF  PROMISE.— No.  II. 

GENTLEMEN  of  the  jury,  that  damages,  heavy  damages 
should  be  awarded  to  .Mrs.  Bardell,  from  Pickwick,  the 
defendant,  for  breach  of  promise,  may  be  shown  from  the 
letters  which  passed  between  these  parties.  These  letters 
must  bo  viewed  with  a  cautious  and  suspicious  eye.  They 
were  evidently  intended,  at  the  time,  by  Pickwick,  to  mislead 
and  delude  any  third  parties  into  whose  hands  they  might 
fall.  Let  me  read  the  first :  "  Garraway's,  twelve  o'clock. 
Dear  Mrs.  B. :  Chops  and  tomato  sauce.  Yours,  Pickwick." 

Gentlemen,  what  does  this  mean?  Chops  and  tomato 
sauce  !  Yours,  Pickwick  !  Chops  !  gracious  fathers  !  and 
tomato  sauce!  Gentlemen,  is  the  happiness  of  a  sensitive 
and  confiding  female  to  be  trifled  away  by  such  shallow 


124  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

artifices  as  these?  The  next  has  no  date  whatever,  which 
is  in  itself  suspicious.  "  Dear  Mrs.  B. :  I  shall  not  be  at 
home  to-morrow.  Slow  coach. "  And  then  follows  this 
very  remarkable  expression  —  "Don't  trouble  yourself 
about  the  warming-pan." 

The  warming-pan  !  Why,  gentlemen,  who  does  trouble 
himself  about  a  warming-pan  ?  Why  is  Mrs.  Bardell  so 
earnestly  entreated  not  to  agitate  herself  about  this  warm- 
ing-pan, unless  (as  is  no  doubt  the  case)  it  is  a  mere  cover 
for  hidden  fire  ;  a  mere  substitute  for  some  endearing  word 
or  promise,  agreeably  to  a  preconcerted  system  of  cor- 
respondence, artfully  contrived  by  Pickwick  with  a  view  to 
his  contemplated  desertion  ?  And  wha^,  does  this  allusion 
to  the  slow  coach  mean  ? 

For  aught  I  know,  it  may  be  a  reference  to  Pickwick 
himself,  who  has  most  unquestionably  been  a  criminally 
slow  coach  during  the  whole  of  this  transaction,  but  whose 
speed  will  be  now  very  unexpectedly  accelerated,  and  whose 
wheels,  gentlemen,  as  he  will  find  to  his  cost,  will  very  soon 
be  greased  by  you. 

But  enough  of  this,  gentlemen.  It  is  difficult  to  smile 
with  an  aching  heart.  My  client's  hopes  and  prospects  are 
ruined.  It  is  no  figure  of  speech  to  say  that  her  "  occupa- 
tion is  gone  "  indeed.  The  bill  is  down ;  but  there  is  no 
tenant.  Eligible  single  gentlemen  pass  and  repass ;  but 
there  is  no  invitation  for  them  to  inquire  within  or  with- 
out. All  is  gloom  and  silence  in  the  house  :  even  the 
voice  of  the  child  is  hushed ;  his  infant  sports  are  disre- 
garded, when  his  mother  weeps. 

But  Pickwick,  gentlemen,  Pickwick,  the  ruthless  destroyer 
of  this  domestic  oasis  in  the  desert  of  Goswell-street ;  Pick- 
wick, who  has  choked  up  the  well,  and  thrown  ashes  on 
the  sward ;  Pickwick,  who  comes  before  you  to-day  with 
his  heartless  tomato  sauce  and  warming-pans ;  Pickwick 
still  rears  his  head  with  unblushing  effrontery,  and  gazes 
without  a  sigh  on  the  ruin  he  has  made !  Damages,  gen- 
tlemen, heavy  damages,  is  the  only  punishment  with  which 
you  can  visit  him  ;  the  only  recompense  you  can  award  to 
my  client.  And  for  those  damages  she  now  appeals  to  an 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  125 

enlightened,  a  high-minded,  a  right-feeling,  a  conscien- 
tious, a  dispassionate,  a  sympathizing,  a  contemplative  jury 
of  her  civilized  countrymen  !  FROM  DICKENS. 


LIV.—  THE  TENDER  HUSBAND. 

Lo,  to  the  cruel  hand  of  fate, 

My  poor  dear  Grizzle,  meek-souled  mate, 

Resigns  her  tuneful  breath ; 
Though  dropped  her  jaw,  her  lip  though  pale, 
And  blue  each  harmless  finger-nail, 

She's  beautiful  in  death. 

As  o'er  her  lovely  limbs  I  weep, 
I  scarce  can  think  her  but  asleep; 

How  wonderfully  tame ! 
And  yet  her  voice  is  really  gone, 
And  dim  those  eyes  that  lately  shone 

With  all  the  lightning's  flame. 

Death  was,  indeed,  a  daring  wight, 
To  take  it  in  his  head  to  smite; 

To  lift  his  dart  to  hit  her; 
For  as  she  was  so  great  a  woman, 
And  cared  a  single  fig  for  no  man, 

I  thought  he  feared  to  meet  her. 

Ah  me!  indeed  I'm  much  inclined 
To  think  how  I  may  speak  my  mind, 

Nor  hurt  her  dear  repose; 
Nor  think  I  now  with  rage  she'd  roar, 
Were  I  to  put  my  fingers  o'er, 

And  touch  her  precious  nose. 

Good  sir,  good  doctor,  go  away ; 

To  hear  my  sighs  you  must  not  stay, 

For  this  my  poor  lost  treasure ; 
I  thank  you  for  your  pains  and  skill; 
When  next  you  come,  pray  bring  your  bill; 

I'll  pay  it,  sir,  with  pleasure. 

Ye  friends  who  come  to  mourn  her  doom, 
Gently,  oh,  gently  tread  the 'room, 
Nor  call  her  from  the  blessed! 


126  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

In  softest  silence  drop  the  tear, 
In  whispers  breathe  the  fervent  prayer,' 
To  bid  her  spirit  rest. 

Good  nurses,  shroud  my  lamb  with  care; 
Her  limbs,  with  gentlest  fingers,  spare, 

Her  mouth,  ah!  slowly  close; 
Her  mouth,  a  magic  tongue  that  held, 
Whose  softest  tone,  at  times,  compelled 

To  peace  my  loudest  woes. 

And,  carpenter,  for  my  sad  sake, 
Of  stoutest  oak  her  coffin  make; 

I'd  not  be  stingy,  sure; 
Procure  of  steel  the  strongest  screws; 
For  who  could  paltry  pence  refuse 
To  lodge  his  wife  secure? 

Ye  people  who  the  corpse  convey, 
With  caution  tread  the  doleful  way, 

Nor  shake  her  precious  head; 
Since  Fame  reports  a  coffin  tossed, 
With  careless  swing  against  a  post, 

Did  once  disturb  the  dead. 

Farewell,  my  love,  forever  lost! 
Ne'er  troubled  be  thy  gentle  ghost, 

That  I  again  will  woo : 
By  all  our  past  delights,  my  dear, 
No  more  the  marriage  chain  I'll  wear, 

No !  hang  me  if  I  do ! 


LV.— THE  SENTIMENTAL  HUSBAND. 

POTTLE  OF  PINES  ;  a  basket  of  pine  apples. 

'TWAS  at  Christmas,  I  think,  when  I  met  with  Miss  Chase; 

Yes,  for  Morris  had  asked  me  to  dine; 
And  I  thought  I  had  never  beheld  such  a  face, 

Or  so  noble  a  turkey  and  chine. 

Placed  close  by  her  side,  it  made  others  quite  wild 

With  sheer  envy,  to  witness  my  luck; 
How  she  blushed,  as  I  gave  her  some  turtle,  and  smiled, 

As  I  afterward  offered  some  duck. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  127 

I  looked  and  I  languished,  alas  !  to  my  cost, 
Through  three  courses  of  dishes  and  meats ; 

Getting  deeper  in  love ;  but  my  heart  was  quite  lost, 
When  it  came  to  the  trifle  and  sweets. 

With  a  rent-roll  that  told  of  my  houses  and  land, 

To  her  parents  I  told  my  designs ; 
And  then  to  herself  I  presented  my  hand, 

With  a  very  fine  pottle  of  pines ! 

I  asked  her  to  have  me  for  weal  or  for  woe, 

And  she  did  not  object  in  the  least; 
I  can't  tell  the  date,  but  we  married  I  know, 

Just  in  time  to  have  game  at  the  feast. 

We  went  to ,  it  certainly  was  the  sea-side ; 

For  the  next,  the  most  bless-ed  of  morns, 
I  remember  how  fondly  I  gazed  at  my  bride, 

Sitting  down  to  a  plateful  of  prawns. 

O,  never  may  memory  lose  sight  of  that  year, 

But  still  hallow  the  time  as  it  ought ! 
That  season  the  " greens"  were  remarkably  dear, 

And  the  peas,  at  a  guinea  a  quart. 

A  long  life  I  looked  for  of  bliss  with  my  bride, 
But  then  Death!  I  ne'er  dreamt  about  that! 

O,  there's  naught  that  is  certain  in  life,  as  I  cried, 
When  my  turbot  eloped  with  the  cat! 

My  dearest  took  ill  at  the  turn  of  the  year, 

But  the  cause  no  physician  could  nab ; 
But  something,  it  seemed,  like  consumption,  I  fear; 

It  was  just  after  supping  on  crab. 

In  vain  she  was  doctored,  in  vain  she  was  dosed, 

Still  her  strength  and  her  appetite  pined; 
She  lost  relish  for  what  she  had  relished  the  most, 

Even  salmon  she  deeply  declined! 

For  months  still  I  lingered  in  hope  and  in  doubt, 

While  her  form  it  grew  wasted  and  thin ; 
But  the  last  dying  spark  of  existence  went  out, 

As  the  oysters  were  just  coming  in! 

She  died,  and  she  left  me  the  saddest  of  men, 

To  indulge  in  a  widower's  moan; 
Oh !  I  felt  all  the  power  of  solitude  then, 

As  I  ate  my  first  turbot  alone !  FROM  HOOD. 


128  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


LVI— THE  INFLUENCE  OF  WOMAN. 

IT  is  by  the  promulgation  of  sound  morals  in  the  com- 
inanity,  and,  more  especially,  by  the  training  and  instruction 
of  the  young,  that  woman  performs  her  part  toward  the 
preservation  of  a  free  government.  It  is  generally  admitted, 
that  public  liberty  rests  on  the  virtue  and  intelligence  of 
the  community  which  enjoys  it.  How  is  that  virtue  to  be 
inspired,  and  how  is  that  intelligence  to  be  communicated? 
Bonaparte  once  asked  Madame  de  Stael  in  what  manner  he 
could  most  promote  the  happiness  of  France.  Her  reply 
is  full  of  political  wisdom.  She  said:  "Instruct  the  mothers 
of  the  French  people." 

Mothers  are,  indeed,  the  affectionate  and  effective  teachers 
of  the  human  race.  The  mother  begins  her  process  of 
training  with  the  infant  in  her  arms.  It  is  she  who  directs 
its  first  mental  and  spiritual  pulsations.  She  conducts  it 
along  the  impressible  years  of  childhood  and  youth,  and 
hopes  to  deliver  it  to  the  rough  contests  and  tumultuous 
scenes  of  life,  armed  by  those  good  principles  which  her 
child  has  received  from  maternal  care  and  love. 

If  we  draw  within  the  circle  of  our  contemplation  the 
mothers  of  a  civilized  nation,  what  do  we  see  ?     We  behold 
so   many  artificers   working,    not   on    frail    and    perishable 
matter,  but  on  the  immortal  mind,  molding  and  fashionino- 
beings  who  are  to  exist  forever.       We   applaud  the  artist 
whose  skill  and  genius  present  the  mimic  man  upon  the 
canvas.     We  admire  and  celebrate  the  sculptor  who  works 
out  that  same  image  in  enduring  marble.     But  how  insig- 
nificant  are    these    achievements,  in    comparison  with    the 
great  vocation  of  human  mothers!     They  work,  not  upon 
the  canvas  that  shall  fail,  or  the  marble  that  shall  crumble 
into  dust,  but  upon  mind,  upon  spirit,  which  is  to  last  for- 
ever, and  which  is  to  bear,  for  good  or  evil,  throughout  its 
duration,  the  impress  of  a  mother's  plastic  hand. 

Knowledge  does  not  comprise  all  which  is  contained  in 
the  larger  term  of  education.  The  feelings  arc  to  be 
disciplined.  The  passions  are  to  be  restrained.  True  and 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  129 

worthy  motives  are  to  be  inspired.  A  profound  religious 
feeling  is  to  be  instilled,  and  pure  morality  inculcated, 
under  all  circumstances.  All  this  is  comprised  in  educa- 
tion. Mothers  who  are  faithful  to  this  great  duty  will  tell 
their  children,  that  neither  in  political  nor  in  any  other 
concerns  of  life,  can  man  ever  withdraw  himself  from  the 
perpetual  obligations  of  conscience  and  of  duty;  that  in 
every  act,  whether  public  or  private,  he  incurs  a  just  respon- 
sibility; and  that  in  no  condition  is  he  warranted  in  trifling 
with  important  rights  and  obligations. 

They  will  impress  upon  their  children  the  truth,  that  the 
exercise  of  the  elective  franchise  is  a  social  duty,  of  as 
solemn  a  nature  as  man  can  be  called  to  perform;  that  a 
man  may  not  innocently  trifle  with  his  vote;  and  that  every 
man  and  every  measure  he  supports,  has  an  important  bear- 
ing on  the  interests  of  others  as  well  as  on  his  own.  It  is 
in  the  inculcation  of  high  and  pure  morals,  such  as  these, 
that,  in  a  free  republic,  woman  performs  her  sacred  duty, 
and  fulfills  her  destiny.  FROM  WEBSTER. 


LVIL— MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE,  the  wife  of  Louis  XVI,  was  executed  with 
her  husband  in  1792,  being  among  the  first  victims  of  the  French 
Revolution. 

EDMUND  BURKE,  from  one  of  whose  speeches  this  extract  is  taken, 
was  among  the  most  eloquent  orators  and  most  able  statesmen  of 
England. 

IT  is  now  some  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen  of  France, 
then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles;  and  surely  never 
lighted  on  this  orb,  which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a 
more  delightful  vision.  I  saw  her  just  above  the  horizon, 
decorating  and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she  just  began 
to  move  in  ;  glittering  like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life, 
and  splendor,  and  joy.  0!  what  a  revolution  !  and  what  a 
heart  must  I  have,  to  contemplate  without  emotion  that 
elevation  and  that  fall ! 

Little  did  I  dream,  when  she  added  titles  of  veneration 
to  those  of  enthusiastic,  distant,  respectful  love,  that  she 


130  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

would  ever  be  obliged  to  carry  the  sharp  antidote  against 
disgrace  concealed  in  that  bosom!  Little  did  I  dream  that 
I  should  have  to  live  to  see  such  disasters  fallen  upon  her, 
in  a  nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a  nation  of  men  of  honor, 
and  of  cavaliers !  I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must 
have  leaped  from  their  scabbards,  to  avenge  even  a  look 
that  threatened  her  with  insult. 

But  the  age  of  chivalry  is  gone.  That  of  sophisters, 
economists,  and  calculators,  has  succeeded ;  and  the  glory 
of  Europe  is  extinguished  forever.  Never,  never  more, 
shall  we  behold  that  generous  loyalty  to  rank  and  sex, 
that  proud  submission,  that  dignified  obedience,  that  sub- 
ordination of  the  heart,  which  kept  alive,  even  in  servitude 
itself,  the  spirit  of  an  exalted  freedom  !  The  unbought 
grace  of  life,  the  cheap  defense  of  nations,  the  nurse  of 
manly  sentiment  and  heroic  enterprise,  is  gone !  It  is 
gone,  that  sensibility  of  principle,  that  chastity  of  honor, 
which  felt  a  stain  like  a  wound,  which  inspired  courage 
while  it  mitigated  ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  it 
touched,  and  under  which  vice  itself  lost  half  its  evil,  by 
losing  all  its  grossness.  FROM  BURKE. 


LVIII— RIENZI.— SCENE  I. 

Tins  and  the  succeeding  scene  may  be  spoken  in  connection,  or 
independently,  as  each  is  complete  in  itself. 

MAN-DO-LIN  ;  a  kind  of  harp. 

CHARACTERS. — Rienzi  the  Tribune  and  Claudia  his  daughter. 

Rienzi.     CLAUDIA!  nay,  start  not!     Thou  art  sad  to-day; 
I  found  thee  sitting  idly,  'mid  thy  maids; 
A  pretty,  laughing,  restless  band,  who  plied 
Quick  tongue  and  nimble  finger.     Mute,  and  pale 
As  marble,  those  unseeing  eyes  were  fixed 
On  vacant  air;  and  that  fair  brow  was  bent 
As  sternly,  as  if  the  rude  stranger,  Thought, 
Age-giving,  mirth-destroying,  pitiless  Thought, 
Had  knocked  at  thy  young,  giddy  brain. 

Claudia.     Nay,  father, 
Mock  not  thine  own  poor  Ckiudia. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  131 

Rie.     Claudia  used 

To  bear  a  merry  heart  with  that  clear  voice, 
Prattling,  and  that  light,  busy  foot,  astir 
In  her  small  housewifery,  the  blithest  bee 
That  ever  wrought  in  hive. 

Cla.     Oh!  mine  old  home! 

Rie.     What  ails  thee,  lady-bird? 

Cla.     Mine  own  dear  home ! 
Father,  I  love  not  this  new  state;  these  halls, 
Where  comfort  dies  in  vastness ;  these  trim  maids, 
Whose  service  wearies  me.     Oh !  mine  old  home ! 
My  quiet,  pleasant  chamber,  with  the  myrtle, 
Woven  round  the  casement;  and  the  cedar  by, 
Shading  the  sun;  my  garden,  overgrown 
With  flowers  and  herbs,  thickset  as  grass  in  fields; 
My  pretty,  snow-white  doves ;  my  kindest  nurse ; 
And  old  Camillo.     Oh !  mine  own  dear  home ! 

Rie.     Why,  simple  child,  thou  hast  thine  old,  fond  nurse, 
And  good  Camillo,  and  shalt  have  thy  doves, 
Thy  myrtles,  flowers,  and  cedars :  a  whole  province 
Laid  in  a  garden  if  thou  wilt.     My  Claudia, 
Hast  thou  not  learnt  thy  power  ?    Ask  orient  gems, 
Diamonds,  and  sapphires,  in  rich  caskets,  wrought 
By  cunning  goldsmiths ;  sigh  for  rarest  birds, 
Of  farthest  Ind,  like  wing-ed  flowers  to  flit 
Around  thy  stately  bower;  and,  at  thy  wish, 
The  precious  toys  shall  wait  thee.     Old  Camillo? 
Thou  shalt  have  nobler  servants ;  emperors,  kings, 
Electors,  princes !     Not  a  bachelor  ...  t 

In  Christendom  but  would  right  proudly  kneel 
To  my  fair  daughter. 

Cla.     Oh  !  mine  own  dear  home ! 

Rie.     Wilt  have  a  list  to  choose  from?    Listen,  sweet! 
If  the  tall  cedar,  and  the  branchy  myrtle, 
And  the  white  doves,  were  telltales,  I  would  ask  them, 
Whose  was  the  shadow  on  the  sunny  wall? 
And  if,  at  eventide  they  heard  not  oft 
A  tuneful  mandolin,  and  then,  a  voice, 
Clear  in  its  manly  depth,  whose  tide  of  song 
O'erwhelmed  the  quivering  instrument;  and  then, 
A  world  of  whispers,  mixed  with  low  responses, 
Sweet,  short,  and  broken  as  divided  strains 
Of  nightingales  ? 

Cla.     Oh,  father!  father! 


132  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Rie.     Well! 
Dost  love  him,  Claudia? 

Cla.     Father ! 

Rie.     Dost  thou  love 

Young  Angelo  ?     Yes  ?     Said'st  thou  yes  ?     That  heart, 
That  throbbing  heart  of  thine,  keeps  such  a  coil, 
I  can  not  hear  thy  words.     He  is  returned 
To  Rome.     He  left  thee  on  mine  errand,  dear  one; 
And  now,  is  there  no  casement,  myrtle-wreathed, 
No  cedar  in  our  courts,  to  shade  to-night 
The  lover's  song? 

Cla,     Oh,  father!  father! 

Rie.    Now, 

Back  to  thy  maidens,  with  a  lightened  heart, 
Mine  own  belov-ed  child.     Thou  shalt  be  first 
In  Rome,  as  thou  art  fairest;  never  princess 
Brought  to  the  proud  Colonna  such  a  dower 
As  thou.     Young  Angelo  hath  chosen  his  mate 
From  out  an  eagle's  nest. 

Cla.     Alas!  alas! 

I  tremble  at  the  hight.     Whene'er  I  think 
Of  the  hot  barons,  of  the  fickle  people, 
And  the  inconstancy  of  power,  I  tremble 
For  thee,  dear  father. 

Rie.     Tremble?  let  them  tremble. 
I  am  their  master,  Claudia,  whom  they  scorned. 
Endured,  protected.     Sweet,  go  dream  of  love ! 
I  am  their  master,  Claudia. 

FROM  MITFORD. 


LIX.—RIENZL— SCENE  II. 

THIS  represents  the  defeat  of  a  design  to  assassinate  Rienzi,  at  a 
banquet  in  honor  of  his  daughter's  marriage  with  Angelo  Colonna, 
son  of  one  of  the  conspirators.  Rienzi,  having  discovered  their  plot, 
substitutes  his  own  maskers  for  theirs. 

CHARACTERS. — Rienzi,  Tribune  of  Rome;  Colonna,  Ursini,  Savelli,  and 
Frangi,  noblemen  and  conspirators ;  Angelo,  Colonna1  s  son  ;  Camillo,  an  at- 
tendant of  Rienzi;  and  maskers,  who  are  Rienzi s  guards. 

(Enter  Savelli  and  Frangi.) 

Savelli.     RIENZI  bears  him  like  a  prince,  save  that  he  lacks 
The  port  serene  of  majesty.     His  mood 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  133 

Is  fitful;  stately  now,  and  sad;  anon, 
Full  of  hurried  mirth;  courteous  awhile, 
And  mild;  then  bursting,  on  a  sudden,  forth, 
Into  sharp  biting  taunts. 

Frangi.     And  at  the  altar, 

When  he  first  found  the  proud  and  angry  mother 
Refused  to  grace  the  nuptials,  even  the  nuncio 
Quailed  at  his  fiery  threats.     I  saw  Colonna 
Gnawing  his  lip  for  wrath. 

Sav.     Why,  this  new  power 

Mounts  to  the  brain  like  wine.     For  such  disease, 
Your  skillful  leech  lets  blood. 

Fra.     Suspects  he  aught 
Of  our  design  ?     Wo  hunt  a  subtil  quarry. 

Sav.     But  with  a  wilier  huntsman.     (Enter  Ursini.) 
Ursini, 

Hath  every  point  been  guarded?    Are  the  maskers 
Valiant  and  strongly  armed  ?    Have  ye  taken  order 
To  close  the  gates,  to  seize  his  train,  to  cut 
The  cordage  of  the  bell,  that  none  may  summon 
The  people  to  his  rescue  ? 

Ursini.     All  is  cared  for, 
And  vengeance  certain.     Before  set  of  sun,  - 
We  shall  be  masters  of  ourselves,  of  Rome, 
And  Rome's  proud  ruler.     This  quiet  mask  of  ours — 

Sav.     What  is  the  watchword  ? 

Urs.     Death. 

Fra.    Peace,  peace!  he  comes! 

(Enter  Rienzi  and  Colonna,  at  opposite  points.     Camillo  follows 

Rienzi.) 

Rienzi.     A  fair  good  welcome,  noble  friends.     Your  chairs. 

(Takes  the  chair  of  state.) 
Bring  mirth !     I  brook  no  pause  of  revelry. 
Have  ye  no  mask? 

Sav.     (To  Ursini.)     He  rushes  in  the  toils. 
Now  weave  the  meshes  round  him. 

Urs.     Sooth,  my  lord, 

We  had  plotted  to  surprise  the  gentle  bride 
With  a  slight  mask;  a  toy,  an  antic. 

Rie.     Ay,  and  when? 

Urs.    Soon  as  the  bell  tolled  four,  the  maskers 
Were  bid  to  enter. 

Rie.     Four?     And  how  attired? 

Urs.    Turbaned  and  robed,  and  with  swart  visages. 


134  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

Rie.     Camillo,  hark  !     Admit  these  revelers ; 
Mark  me — (Gives  orders  in  a  low  voice,  to  Camillo.) 
Urs.     (Aside.}     Now,  vengeance,  thou  art  mine  I 

Rie.      Wine!  wine!     (To  an  attendant.) 
Fill  me  a  goblet  high  with  sparkling  wine!     (Rises.) 
Claudia  Kienzi 

And  Angelo  Colonna !     Blessed  be  they 
And  we  in  their  fair  union !     Doubly  cursed 
Whoever  in  wish  or  thought  would  loose  that  tie, 
The  bond  of  peace  to  Rome ! 
Hark,  Camillo! 

Go  bid  the  fountains,  from  their  marble  mouths, 
Pour  the  rich  juice  of  the  Sicilian  grape, 
A  flood  of  molten  rubies,  that  our  kind 
And  drouthy  fellow-citizens  may  chorus 
Hail  to  the  gentle  bride.     Let  the  phantom,  /ear, 
And  doubt,  that  haunts  round  princes;  and  suspicion, 
That  broods,  a  harpy  o'er  the  banquet;  flee 
Down  to  the  uttermost  depths. 

Urs.     Of  what  doubt 
Speaks  our  great  Tribune? 

Rie.     A  fit  tale  of  mirth, 

To  crown  the  goblet!     (Enter  the  maskers,  at  different  sides.) 
Doubt!     Spake  I  of  doubt? 

Fear!     Said  I  fear?    So  fenced  around  by  friends, 
Allies,  and  kinsmen,  what  have  I  to  fear 
From  treason  or  from  traitors !     Say  yon  band 
Were  rebels,  ye  would  guard  me !     Call  them  murderers, 
Ye  would  avenge  me. 

Urs.    Ay,  by  death. 

Rie.     And  thou  ? 

Col.     By  death ! 

Rie.     Seize  the  foul  traitors.      (To  the  maskers,  who  seize  the 

nobles.)     Ye  have  passed 

Your  own  just  sentence.     Yield,  my  masters,  yield ! 
Your  men  are  overpowered ;  your  maskers  chained : 
The  courts  arc  lined  with  guards,  and  at  one  stroke, 
One  touch  upon  the  bell,  the  strength  of  Rome, 
All  that  hath  life  within  the  walls,  will  rise 
To  crush  you.     Yield  your  swords.     Do  ye  not  shame 
To  wear  them!     Yield  your  swords.     (Enter  Angelo.) 
Angelo.     Rienzi — (Then  to  one  of  the  guards,  who  seizes  Col 

onna.)     Villain! 
An  thou  but  touch  the  lord  Colonna,  ay, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  135 

An  thou  but  dare  to  lay  thy  ruffian  hand 
Upon  his  garment — 

Bie.     Seize  his  sword. 

Ang.   Again! 

Art  frenetic,  Rienzi ! 

Rie.     Seek  of  them.  , 

Ang.   Father,  in  mercy  speak !     Give  me  a  cause, 
And  though  a  legion  hemmed  thee  in,  thy  son 
Should  rescue  thee.     Speak  but  one  word,  dear  father, 
Only  one  word !     Sure  as  I  live,  thou  art  guiltless. 
Sure  as  the  sun  tracks  his  bright  path  in  heaven, 
Thy  course  is  pure.     Yet  speak! 

Rie.     He  is  silent. 

Any.   Speak. 

Rie.     Doth  not  that  silence  answer  thee?    Look  on  them. 
Thou  knowest  them,  Angelo;  the  bold  Savelli, 
The  Frangipani,  and  the  Ursini; 
Ay,  and  the  high  Colonna;  well  thou  knowest 
Each  proud  and  lofty  visage ;  mark  them  now. 
They  should  be  signed,  as  Cain  of  old,  for  guilt, 
Detected,  baffled,  murderous  guilt,  hath  set 
His  bloody  hand  upon  them.     Son,  thou  shudderest! 
Their  tawny  maskers  should  have  slain  me,  here, 
Here,  at  thy  bridal; 

Here,  in  my  festive  hour;  the  mutual  cup 
Sparkling;  the  mutual  pledge  half  spoke;  the  bread, 
Which  we  have  broke  together,  unconsumed 
Upon  the  board ;  joyful  and  full  of  wine ; 
Sinful  and  unconfessed,  so  had  I  fallen ; 
And  so,  the  word  was  death.     From  their  own  lips 
Came  their  own  righteous  sentence — death ! 

Ang.     Oh,  mercy ! 
Mercy  !     Thou  livest.     'T  was  but  the  intent — 

Rie.     My  death 

Were  nothing;  but  through  me,  the  traitors  struck 
At  peace,  at  liberty,  at'  Rome,  my  country ; 
Bright  and  regenerate,  the  world's  mistress  once, 
And  doomed,  like  the  old  fabled  bird,  to  rise 
Strong  from  her  ashes.     Did  ye  think  the  people 
Could  spare  their  Tribune  ?    Did  ye  deem  them  weary 
Of  equal  justice;  and  mild  law;  and  freedom 
As  liberal  as  the  air;  and  mighty  fame, 
A  more  resplendent  sun?     Sirs,  I  am  guarded 
By  the  invisible  shield  of  love,  which  blunts 


136  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

The  darts  of  treachery.     I  can  not  die, 

While  Rome  commands  me  live.     For  you,  foul  traitors, 

I  pardon  you,  and  I  despise  you.     Go! 

Ye  are  free. 

Aug.    (To  Rienzi.}     Oh,  thanks,  my  father. 

Hie,     Yet  mark  me,  seigniors.     Tame  your  rebel  blood; 
Be  faithful  subjects  to  the  good  estate ; 
Demolish  your  strong  towers,  which  overtop 
Our  beautiful  city  with  barbarian  pride, 
Loosing  fell  rapine,  discord,  and  revenge, 
From  out  their  dens  accursed.     Be  quiet  subjects, 
And  ye  shall  find  the  state  a  gentle  mistress.     (Exeunt.) 

FKOM  MITFOED. 


LX.— TRUE  ELOQUENCE. 

WHEN  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong 
passions  excited,  nothing  is  valuable  in  speech,  further 
than  it  is  connected  with  high  intellectual  and  moral  en- 
dowments. Clearness,  force,  and  earnestness,  are  the  quali- 
ties which  produce  conviction. 

True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  consist  in  speech.  It 
can  not  be  brought  from  far.  Labor  and  learning  may 
toil  for  it,  but  they  will  toil  in  vain.  Words  and  phrases 
may  be  marshaled  in  every  way,  but  they  can  not  compass 
it.  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in  the  subject,  and  in  the 
occasion.  Affected  passion,  intense  expression,  the  pomp 
of  declamation,  all  may  aspire  after  it ;  they  can  not  reach 
it.  It  comes,  if  it  comes  at  all,  like  the  outbreaking  of  a 
fountain  from  the  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanic 
fires,  with  spontaneous,  original,  native  force. 

The  graces  taught  in  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments 
and  studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust  men, 
when  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives,  their 
children,  and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of  the 
hour.  Then,  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric  is  vain, 
and  all  elaborate  oratory  contemptible.  Even  genius  itself 
then  feels  rebuked  and  subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  137 

higher  qualities.     Then,  patriotism  is  eloquent;  then,  self- 
devotion  is  eloquent. 

The  clear  conception,  outrunning  the  deductions  of  logic, 
the  high  purpose,  the  firm  resol\7e,  the  dauntless  spirit, 
speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  informing 
every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward,  right 
onward,  to  his  object, — this,  this  is  eloquence;  or,  rather, 
it  is  something  greater  and  higher  than  all  eloquence.  It 
is  action,  noble,  sublime,  godlike  action! 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


LXI.— HAMLET  TO  THE  PLAYERS. 

SPEAK  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you; 
trippingly,  on  the  tongue.  But  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many 
of  the  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  had  spoke 
my  lines.  And  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your 
hand  ;  but  use  all  gently.  For  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest, 
and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must 
acquire  and  beget  a  temperance  that  may  give  it  smooth- 
ness. Oh !  it  offends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious, 
periwig-pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags, 
to  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings ;  who,  for  the  most  part, 
are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  shows  and 
noise.  Pray,  you  avoid  it. 

Be  n&t  too  tame  either :  but  let  your  own  discretion  be 
your  tutor.  Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the 
action  ;  with  this  special  observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not 
the  modesty  of  nature.  For  any  thing  so  overdone  is  from 
the  purpose  of  playing,  whose  end  is,  to  hold,  as  it  were, 
the  mirror  up  to  nature;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature, 
scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the 
time  his  form  and  pressure. 

Now,  this  overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  makes 
the  unskillful  laugh,  can  not  but  make  the  judicious  grieve; 
the  censure  of  one  of  which  must,  in  your  allowance, 
o'erweigh  a  whole  theater  of  others.  Oh !  there  be  players 
that  I  have  seen  play,  and  heard  others  praise,  and  that 
NEW  EC.  S.— 12 


138  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

highly,  that,  neither  having  the  accent  of  Christian,  nor 
the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  nor  man,  have  so  strutted 
and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some  of  Nature's  jour- 
neymen had  made  men,  and  not  made  them  well;  they 
imitated  humanity  so  abominably.  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


LXIL— AFFECTATION  IN  THE  PULPIT. 

IN  man  or  woman,  but  far  most  in  man, 
And  most  of  all  in  man  that  ministers 
And  serves  the  altar,  in  my  soul  I  loathe 
All  affectation.     'Tis  my  perfect  scorn; 
Object  of  my  implacable  disgust. 

What !  will  a  man  play  tricks  ?    Will  he  indulge 
A  silly,  fond  conceit  of  his  fair  form, 
And  just  proportion,  fashionable  mien, 
And  pretty  face, — in  presence  of  his  God? 
Or  will  he  seek  to  dazzle  me  with  tropes, 
As  with  the  diamond  on  his  lily  hand. 
And  play  his  brilliant  parts  before  my  eyes, 
When  I  am  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life  ? 
He  mocks  his  Maker,  prostitutes  and  shames 
His  noble  office,  and,  instead  of  truth, 
Displaying  his  own  beauty,  starves  his  flock! 

Therefore,  avaunt  all  attitude,  and  stare, 
And  start  theatric,  practiced  at  the  glass! 
I  seek  divine  simplicity  in  him 
Who  handles  things  divine;  and  all  besides, 
Though  learned  with  labor,  and  though  much  admired 
By  curious  eyes  and  judgments  ill-informed, 
To  me  is  odious  as  the  nasal  twang 
Heard  at  conventicle,  where  worthy  men, 
Misled  by  custom,  strain  celestial  themes 
Through  the  pressed  nostril,  spectacle-bestrid. 

I  venerate  the  man  whose  heart  is  warm, 
Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life, 
Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause. 
To  such  I  render  more  than  mere  respect, 
Whose  actions  say  that  they  respect  themselves. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  139 

But  loose  in  morals,  and  in  manners  vain, 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 
Extreme,  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse ; 
Frequent  in  park  with  lady  at  his  side, 
Ambling  and  prattling  scandal  as  he  goes; 
But  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books, 
Or  with  a  pen,  save  when  he  scrawls  a  card, 
Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round 
Of  ladyships,  a  stranger  to  the  poor; 
Ambitious  of  preferment  for  its  gold; 
And  well  prepared,  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 
By  infidelity  and  love  of  world, 
To  make  God's  work  a  sinecure;  a  slave 
To  his  own  pleasures  and  his  patron's  pride; 
From  such  apostles,  O,  ye  mitered  heads, 
Preserve  the  Church !  and  lay  not  careless  hands 
On  skulls  that  can  not  teach,  and  will  not  learn! 

FROM  COWPER. 


LXIII— EVILS  OF  INTEMPERANCE. 

THE  common  calamities  of  life  may  be  endured.  Pov- 
erty, sickness,  and  even  death,  may  be  met.  But  there  is 
that  which,  while  it  brings  all  these  with  it,  is  worse  than 
all  these  together.  When  the  husband  and  father  forgets 
the  duties  he  once  delighted  to  fulfill,  and,  by  slow  degrees, 
becomes  the  creature  of  intemperance,  there  enters  into 
his  house  the  sorrow  that  rends  the  spirit,  that  can  not  be 
alleviated,  that  will  not  be  comforted. 

It  is  here,  above  all,  where  she,  who  has  ventured  every 
thing,  feels  that  every  thing  is  lost.  Woman,  silent,  suf- 
fering, devoted  woman,  here  bends  to  her  direst  affliction. 
The  measure  of  her  woe  is,  in  truth,  full,  whose  husband 
is  a  drunJcard.  Who  shall  protect  her,  when  he  is  her  in- 
sulter,  her  oppressor  ?  What  shall  delight  her,  when  she 
shrinks  from  the  sight  of  his  face,  and  trembles  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice? 

The  hearth  is  indeed  dark,  that  he  has  made  desolate. 
There,  through  the  dull  midnight  hour,  her  griefs  are 
whispered  to  herself.  Her  bruised  heart  bleeds  in  secret. 


140  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

There,  while  the  cruel  author  of  her  distress  is  drowned  in 
distant  revelry,  she  holds  her  solitary  vigil,  waiting,  yet 
dreading  his  return,  that  will  only  wring  from  her,  by  his 
unkindness,  tears  even  more  scalding  than  those  she  shed 
over  his  transgression. 

To  fling  a  deeper  gloom  across  the  present,  memory  turns 
back,  and  broods  upon  the  past.  Like  the  recollection  to 
the  sun-stricken  pilgrim,  of  the  cool  spring  that  he  drank 
at  in  the  morning,  the  joys  of  other  days  come  over  her, 
as  if  only  to  mock  her  parched  and  weary  spirit.  She  re- 
calls the  ardent  lover,  whose  graces  won  her  from  the 
home  of  her  infancy  :  the  enraptured  father,  who  bent  with 
such  delight  over  his  newborn  children  :  and  she  asks  if 
this  can  really  be  he;  this  sunken  being,  who  has  now 
nothing  for  her  but  the  sot's  disgusting  brutality !  nothing 
for  those  abashed  and  trembling  children,  but  the  sot's 
disgusting  example! 

Can  we  wonder  that,  amid  these  agonizing  moments,  the 
tender  cords  of  violated  affection  should  snap  asunder  ? 
that  the  scorned  and  deserted  wife  should  confess,  "  there 
is  no  killing  like  that  which  kills  the  heart?"  that,  though 
it  would  have  been  hard  for  her  to  kiss,  for  the  last  time, 
the  cold  lips  of  her  dead  husband,  and  lay  his  body  for- 
ever in  the  dust,  it  is  harder  to  behold  him  so  debasing 
life,  that  even  his  death  would  be  greeted  in  mercy  ? 

Had  he  died  in  the  light  of  his  goodness,  bequeathing 
to  his  family  the  inheritance  of  an  untarnished  name,  the 
example  of  virtues  that  should  blossom  for  his  sons  and 
daughters  from  the  tomb ;  though  she  would  have  wept 
bitterly  indeed,  the  tears  of  grief  would  not  have  been 
also  the  tears  of  shame.  But  to  behold  him  thus  fallen 
away  from  the  station  he  once  adorned,  degraded  from 
eminence  to  ignominy;  at  home,  turning  his  dwelling  to 
darkness,  and  its  holy  endearments  to  mockery ;  abroad, 
thrust  from  the  companionship  of  the  worthy,  a  self- 
branded  outlaw  ;  this  is  the  woe  that  the  wife  feels,  is  more 
dreadful  than  death  ;  that  she  mourns  over,  as  worse  than 
widowhood.  FROM  SPRAGUE. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  141 


LXIV.— DANGER  OF  INTEMPERANCE. 

THE  sufferings  of  animal  nature  occasioned  by  intem- 
perance, are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  moral  agonies 
which  convulse  the  soul.  It  is  an  immortal  being,  who 
sins  and  suffers.  As  his  earthly  house  dissolves,  he  is  ap- 
proaching the  judgment-seat,  in  anticipation  of  a  miserable 
eternity.  He  feels  his  captivity,  and,  in  anguish  of  spirit, 
clanks  his  chain  and  cries  for  help.  Conscience  thunders, 
remorse  goads,  and,  as  the  gulf  opens  before  him,  he 
recoils,  and  trembles,  and  weeps,  and  prays,  and  resolves, 
and  promises,  and  reforms,  and  "seeks  it  yet  again;" 
again  resolves,  and  weeps,  and  prays,  and  "  seeks  it  yet 
again  !" 

Wretched  man  !  he  has  placed  himself  in  the  hands  of  a 
giant,  who  never  pities,  and  never  relaxes  his  iron  gripe. 
He  may  struggle,  but  he  is  in  chains.  He  may  cry  for 
release,  but  it  comes  not.  Lost !  lost !  may  be  inscribed 
upon  the  door-posts  of  his  dwelling.  In  the  meantime, 
these  paroxysms  of  his  dying  moral  nature  decline,  and  a 
fearful  apathy,  the  harbinger  of  spiritual  death,  comes  on. 

His  resolution  fails,  and  his  mental  energy,  and  his  vig- 
orous enterprise.  Nervous  irritation  and  depression  ensue. 
The  social  affections  lose  their  fullness  and  tenderness,  and 
conscience  loses  its  power,  and  the  heart  its  sensibility, 
until  all  that  was  lovely  and  of  good  report  retires,  and 
leaves  the  wretch  abandoned  to  the  appetites  of  a  ruined 
animal.  In  this  deplorable  condition,  reputation  expires, 
business  falters  and  becomes  perplexed,  and  temptations  to 
drink  multiply,  as  inclination  to  do  so  increases,  and  the 
power  of  resistance  declines. 

And  now  the  vortex  roars,  and  the  struggling  victim 
buffets  the  fiery  wave  with  feebler  stroke,  and  warning 
supplication,  until  despair  flashes  upon  his  soul,  and,  with 
an  outcry  that  pierces  the  heavens,  he  ceases  to  strive,  and 
disappears.  FROM  BEECHEE. 


142  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

LXV.— WATER  FOR  ME. 

O,  WATER  for  me!  bright  water  for  me, 

And  wine  for  the  tremulous  debauchee. 

Water  cooleth  the  brow,  and  cooleth  the  brain, 

And  maketh  the  faint  one  strong  again ; 

It  comes  o'er  the  sense  like  a  breeze  from  the  sea, 

All  freshness,  like  infant  purity; 

O,  water,  bright  water,  for  me,  for  me! 

Give  wine,  give  wine,  to  the  debauchee! 

Fill  to  the  brim !  fill,  fill  to  the  brim ; 

Let  the  flowing  crystal  kiss  the  rim! 

For  my  hand  is  steady,  my  eye  is  true, 

For  I,  like  the  flowers,  drink  nothing  but  dew. 

O,  water,  bright  water 's  a  mine  of  wealth, 

And  the  ores  which  it  yieldeth  are  vigor  and  health. 

So  water,  pure  water,  for  me,  for  me ! 

And  wine  for  the  tremulous  debauchee ! 

Fill  again  to  the  brim,  again  to  the  brim ! 
For  water  strengtheneth  life  and  limb ! 
To  the  days  of  the  a-ged  it  addeth  length, 
To  the  might  of  the  strong  it  addeth  strength; 
It  freshens  the  heart,  it  brightens  the  sight, 
'Tis  like  quaffing  a  goblet  of  morning  light! 
So,  water,  I  will  drink  nothing  but  thee, 
Thou  parent  of  health  and  energy ! 

When  over  the  hills,  like  a  gladsome  bride, 

Morning  walks  forth-  in  her  beauty's  pride, 

And,  leading  a  band  of  laughing  hours, 

Brushes  the  dew  from  the  nodding  flowers, 

O !  cheerily  then  my  voice  is  heard 

Mingling  with  that  of  the  soaring  bird, 

Who  flingeth  abroad  his  matin  loud, 

As  he  freshens  his  wing  in  the  cold,  gray  cloud. 

But  when  evening  has  quitted  her  sheltering  yew, 

Drowsily  flying,  and  weaving  anew 

Her  dusky  meshes  o'er  land  and  sea, 

How  gently,  O  sleep,  fall  thy  poppies  on  me ! 

For  I  drink  water,  pure,  cold,  and  bright, 

And  my  dreams  are  of  Heaven  the  livelong  night. 

So  hurrah  for  thee,  water !  hurrah !  hurrah  ! 

Thou  art  silver  and  gold,  thou  art  ribbon  and  star. 

Hurrah  for  bright  water !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  143 


LXVL— REMORSE  OF  DE  MOOR. 

I  MUST  rest  here.  My  joints  are  shaken  asunder.  My 
tongue  cleaves  to  my  mouth.  How  glorious,  how  majestic, 
yonder  setting  sun  !  'Tis  thus  the  hero  falls,  'tis  thus  he 
dies,  in  godlike  majesty  !  When  I  was  a  boy,  a  mere  child, 
it  was  my  favorite  thought,  to  live  and  die  like  that  sun. 
'Twas  an  idle  thought,  a  boy's  conceit.  There  was  a  time, 
there  was  a  time,  when  I  could  not  sleep,  if  I  had  forgot- 
ten my  prayers !  Oh  that  I  were  a  child  once  more ! 

What  a  lovely  evening!  what  a  pleasing  landscape! 
That  scene  is  noble !  this  world  is  beautiful !  the  earth  is 
grand!  But  /  am  hideous  in  this  world  of  beauty :  a  mon- 
ster on  this  magnificent  earth :  the  prodigal  son !  My  in- 
nocence !  Oh  my  innocence  ! 

All  nature  expands  at  the  sweet  breath  of  spring :  but, 
oh,  this  paradise,  this  heaven  is  a  hell  to  me!  All  is  hap- 
piness around  me :  all  is  the  sweet  spirit  of  peace :  the 
world  is  one  family :  but  its  father  there  above  is  not  my 
father !  I  am  an  outcast !  the  prodigal  son !  the  compan- 
ion of  murderers,  of  viperous  fiends !  bound  down,  en- 
chained to. guilt  and  horror! 

Oh !  that  I  could  return  once  more  to  peace  and  inno- 
cence !  that  I  were  once  more  an  infant !  that  I  were  born 
a  beggar !  the  meanest  kind !  a  peasant  of  the  field !  I 
would  toil,  till  the  sweat  of  blood  dropt  from  my  brow,  to 
purchase  the  luxury  of  one  sound  sleep,  the  rapture  of  a 
single  tear!  There  was  a  time  when  I  could  weep  with 
ease.  Oh,  days  of  bliss !  Oh,  mansion  of  my  fathers ! 
Scenes  of  my  infant  years,  enjoyed  by  fond  enthusiasm ! 
Will  you  no  more  return?  No  more  exhale  your  sweets 
to  cool  this  burning  bosom  ?  Oh  !  never,  never  shall  they 
return  !  No  more  refresh  this  bosom  with  the  breath  of 

peace !     They  are  gone  !  gone  forever ! 

FROM  SCHILLER. 


144  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


LXVIL— THE  GUILTY  CONSCIENCE. 

RICHARD  III,  of  England,  had  committed  many  murders  to  gain 
the  cro\?n.  The  night  before  the  battle,  in  which  he  lost  his  life,  he 
awakes  from  the  dreams  of  a  guilty  conscience,  as  described  in  this 
extract. 

GIVE  me  another  horse  !  bind  up  my  wounds! 
Have  mercy!  mercy!     Soft!  I  did  but  dream. 

0  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me ! 
The  lights  burn  blue.     It  is  now  dead  midnight. 
Cold,  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 

What  do  I  fear?  myself?  there's  none  else  by: 
Eichard  loves  Richard;  that  is,  I  am  I. 
Is  there  a  murderer  here  ?     No ; — yes ;  7  am. 
Then  fly!     What,  from  myself?     Great  reason:  why? 
Lest  I  revenge.     What?    Myself  on  myself? 

1  love  myself.     Wherefore?  for  any  good, 
That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself? 
Oh,  no.     Alas,  I  rather  hate  myself, 

For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 
I  am  a  villain :  yet  I  lie,  I  am  not. 

Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well :  fool,  do  not  flatter. 
My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues, 
And  every  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale, 
And  every  tale  condemns  me  for  a  villain. 
Perjury,  perjury,  in  the  highest  degree ; 
Murder,  stern  murder,  in  the  direst  degree; 
All  several  sins,  all  used  in  each  degree, 
Throng  to  the  bar,  crying  all, — Guilty!  guilty! 

I  shall  despair.     There  is  no  creature  loves  me; 
And,  if  I  die,  no  soul  will  pity  me : 
Nay,  wherefore  should  they  ?  since  that  I  myself 
Find  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself. 
Methought  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murdered 
Came  to  my  tent;  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard. 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  145 


LXVIIL—  SOLILOQUY  OF  HAMLET'S  UNCLE. 

-    HAMLET'S  uncle  had  murdered  his  own  brother,  the  king  of  Den- 
mark, and  usurped  the  throne. 

OH!  my  offense  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven. 
It  hath  the  primal,  eldest  curse  upon  it, 
A  brother's  murder !     Pray  I  can  not, 
Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  'twill, 
My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent: 
And  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 
I  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin, 
And  both  neglect. 

What  if  this  curs-ed  hand 
Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood; 
Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 
To  wash  it  white  as  snow?    Whereto  serves  mercy, 
But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offense  ? 
And  what's  in  prayer,  but  this  twofold  force, 
To  be  forestall-ed,  ere  we  come  to  fall, 
Or  pardoned,  being  down?    Then  I'll  look  up; 
My  fault  is  past. 

But  oh,  what  form  of  prayer 

Can  serve  my  turn  ?     "  Forgive  me  my  foul  murder  I" 
That  can  not  be;  since  I  am  still  possessed 
Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder, 
My  crown,  mine  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 
May  one  be  pardoned,  and  retain  the  offense  ? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world, 
Offense's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice; 
And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law.     But  'tis  not  so  above. 
There,  is  no  shuffling;  there,  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature ;  and  we  ourselves  compelled, 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence. 

What  then?    What  rests? 
Try  what  repentance  can.     What  can  it  not? 
Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  can  not  repent? 
Oh  wretched  state !  oh  bosom,  black  as  death ! 
Oh  li-med  soul ;  that,  struggling  to  be  free, 
NEW  EC.  S.— 13 


146  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

Art  more  engaged !     Help,  angels !  make  assay ! 
Bow,  stubborn  knees ;  and  heart,  with  strings  of  steel, 
Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe! 
All  may  be  well. 

FKOM  SHAKSPEARE. 


LXIX,— NATIONAL  MORALITY. 

THE  crisis  has  come.  By  the  people  of  this  generation, 
by  ourselves,  probably,  the  amazing  question  is  to  be 
decided  :  whether  the  inheritance  of  our  fathers  shall  be 
preserved  or  thrown  away :  whether  our  sabbaths  shall 
be  a  delight  or  a  loathing  :  whether  the  taverns,  on  that 
holy  day,  shall  be  crowded  with  drunkards,  or  the  sanctu- 
ary of  God  with  humble  worshipers :  whether  riot  and 
profaneness  shall  fill  our  streets,  and  poverty  our  dwellings, 
and  convicts  our  jails,  and  violence  our  land:  or  whether 
industry,  and  temperance,  and  righteousness,  shall  be  the 
stability  of  our  times :  whether  mild  laws  shall  receive  the 
cheerful  submission  of  freemen,  of  the  iron  rod  of  a  tyrant 
compel  the  trembling  homage  of  slaves. 

Be  not  deceived.  Our  rocks  and  hills  will  remain  till 
the  last  conflagration.  But  let  the  sabbath  be  profaned 
with  impunity,  the  worship  of  God  be  abandoned,  the  gov- 
ernment and  religious  instruction  of  children  neglected, 
and  the  streams  of  intemperance  be  permitted  to  flow,  and 
her  glory  will  depart.  The  wall  of  fire  will  no  longer  sur- 
round her,  and  the  munition  of  rocks  will  no  longer  be 
her  defense.  The  hand  that  overturns  our  laws  and  tem- 
ples is  the  hand  of  death,  unbarring  the  gate  of  Pande- 
monium, and  letting  loose  upon  our  land  the  crimes  and 
miseries  of  hell. 

If  the  most  High  should  stand  aloof,  and  cast  not  a 
single  ingredient  into  our  cup  of  trembling,  it  would  seem 
to  be  full  of  superlative  woe.  But  he  will  not.  stand  aloof. 
As  we  shall  have  begun  an  open  controversy  with  him,  he 
will  contend  openly  with  us.  And  never,  since  the  earth 
stood,  has  it  been  so  fearful  a  thing  for  nations  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  living  God. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  147 

The  day  of  vengeance  is  at  hand.  The  day  of  judgment 
has  come.  The  great  earthquake  which  sinks  Babylon  is 
shaking  the  nations,  and  the  waves  of  the  mighty  commo- 
tion are  dashing  upon  every  shore.  Is  this,  then,  a  time 
to  remove  the  foundations,  when  the  earth  itself  is  shaken  ? 
Is  this  a  time  to  forfeit  the  protection  of  God,  when  the 
hearts  of  men  are  failing  them  for  fear,  and  for  looking 
after  those  things  which  are  to  come  upon  the  earth?  Is 
this  a  time  to  run  upon  his  neck  and  the  thick  bosses  of 
his  buckler,  when  the  nations  are  drinking  blood,  and 
fainting,  and  passing  away  in  his  wrath? 

Is  this  a  time  to  throw  away  the  shield  of  faith,  when 
his  arrows  are  drunk  with  the  blood  of  the  slain  ?  to  cut 
from  the  anchor  of  hope,  when  the  clouds  are  collecting, 
and  the  sea  and  the  waves  are  roaring,  and  thunders  are 
uttering  their  voices,  and  lightnings  blazing  in  the  heavens, 
and  the  great  hail  is  falling  from  heaven  upon  men,  and 
every  mountain,  sea,  and  island,  is  fleeing  in  dismay  from 
the  face  of  an  incensed  God?  FROM  BEECHER. 


LXX.— ARRANGEMENTS  OF  PROVIDENCE. 

WHAT  would  this  man?    Now  upward  will  he  soar, 
And  little  less  than  angel,  would  be  more: 
Now  looking  downward,  just  as  grieved  appears, 
To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of  bears. 
Say,  what  their  use,  had  he  the  powers  of  all? 

Nature  to  these,  without  profusion  kind, 

The  proper  organs,  proper  powers  assigned: 

Each  seeming  want  compensated,  of  course; 

Here  with  degrees  of  swiftness,  there  with  force: 

All  in  exact  proportion  to  their  state: 

Nothing  to  add,  and  nothing  to  abate. 

Each  beast,  each  insect,  happy  in  its  own, 

Is  heaven  unkind  to  man,  and  man  alone  ? 

Shall  he  alone  whom  rational  we  call, 

Be  pleased  with  nothing,  if  not  blessed  with  all  ? 

This  bliss  of  man,  (could  pride  the  blessing  find,) 
Is  not  to  act  or  think  beyond  mankind; 


148  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

No  powers  of  body  or  of  soul  to  share, 
But  what  his  nature  and  his  state  can  bear. 

Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  eye  ? 

For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a  fly. 

Say,  what  the  use,  were  finer  optics  given, 

To  inspect  a  mite,  not  comprehend  the  heaven? 

Or  touch,  if  tremblingly  alive  all  o'er, 

To  smart  and  agonize  at  every  pore? 

Or  quick  effluvia  darting  through  the  brain, 

Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain? 

If  nature  thundered  in  his  open  ears, 
And  stunned  him  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
How  would  he  wish  that  heaven  had  left  him  still 
The  whispering  zephyr  and  the  purling  rill ! 
Who  finds  not  Providence  all  good  and  wise, 
Alike  in  what  it  gives,  and  what  denies  ? 

FROM  POPE. 


LXXL— SCEPTICISM. 

IBERIA'S  PILOT;  Columbus. 

COPE;  the  arch  or  concave  of  the  sky. 

O,  LIVES  there,  Heaven,  beneath  thy  dread  expanse, 

One  hopeless,  dark  idolater  of  Chance, 

Content  to  feed,  with  pleasure  unrefined, 

The  lukewarm  passions  of  a  lowly  mind; 

Who,  moldering  earthward,  'reft  of  every  trust, 

In  joyless  union  wedded  to  the  dust, 

Could  all  his  parting  energy  dismiss, 

And  call  this  barren  world  sufficient  bliss? 

There  live,  alas !  of  heaven-directed  mien, 
Of  cultured  soul,  and  sapient  eye  serene, 
Who  hail  thee,  man,  the  pilgrim  of  a  day, 
Spouse  of  the  worm,  and  -brother  of  the  clay  1 
Frail  as  the  leaf  in  Autumn's  yellow  bower, 
Dust  in  the  wind,  or  dew  upon  the  flower ! 
A  friendless  slave,  a  child  without  a  sire, 
Whose  mortal  life,  and  momentary  fire, 
Lights  to  the  grave  his  chance-created  form, 
As  ocean-wrecks  illuminate  the  storm, 
And,  when  the  gun's  tremendous  flash  is  o'er, 
To  night  and  silence  sink  forevermore ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  149 

Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 

Lights  of  the  world,  and  demi-gods  of  farno? 

Is  this  your  triumph;  this  your  proud  applause, 

Children  of  truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause  ? 

For  this  hath  science  searched,  on  weary  wing, 

By  shore  and  sea,  each  mute  and  living  thing? 

Launched  with  Iberia's  pilot  from  the  steep, 

To  worlds  unknown,  and  isles  beyond  the  deep, 

Or  round  the  cope  her  living  chariot  driven, 

And  wheeled  in  triumph  through  the  signs  of  heaven  ? 

O!  star-eyed  science,  hast  thou  wandered  there, 

To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  despair? 

Then  bind  the  palm,  thy  sage's  brow  to  suit, 

Of  blasted  leaf,  and  death-distilling  fruit ! 

Ah  me!  the  laureled  wreath  that  murder  rears, 

Blood-nursed,  and  watered  by  the  widow's  tears, 

Seems  not  so  foul,  so  tainted,  and  so  dread, 

As  waves  the  nightshade  round  the  skeptic  head. 

What  is  the  bigot's  torch,  the  tyrant's  chain? 
I  smile  on  death,  if  heavenward  Hope  remain! 
But,  if  the  warring  winds  of  nature's  strife 
Be  all  the  faithless  charter  of  my  life, 
If  Chance  awaked, — inexorable  power ! — 
This  frail  and  feverish  being  of  an  hour, 
Doomed  o'er  the  world's  precarious  scene  to  sweep, 
Swift  as  the  tempest  travels  on  the  deep, 
To  know  Delight  but  by  her  parting  smile, 
And  toil,  and  wish,  and  weep,  a  little  while ; 
Then  melt,  ye  elements,  that  formed  in  vain 
This  troubled  pulse,  and  visionary  brain ! 
Fade,  ye  wild  flowers,  memorials  of  my  doom! 
And  sink,  ye  stars,  that  light  me  to  the  tomb! 
FROM  CAMPBELL. 


LXXII.— THE  INQUIRY. 

TELL  me,  ye  wing-ed  winds, 
That  round  my  pathway  roar, 

Do  ye  not  know  some  spot 
Where  mortals  weep  no  more; 


150  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKEF. 

Some  lone  and  pleasant  dell 

Some  valley  in  the  west, 
Where,  free  from  toil  and  pain, 

The  weary  soul  may  rest? 
The  loud  wind  dwindled  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed  for  pity,  as  it  answered,  "No." 

Tell  me,  thou  mighty  deep, 

Whose  billows  round  me  play, 
Knowest  thou  some  favored  spot, 

Some  island  far  away, 
Where  weary  man  may  find 

The  bliss  for  which  he  sighs, 
Where  sorrow  never  lives, 

And  friendship  never  dies  ? 
The  loud  waves,  roaring  in  perpetual  flow, 
Stopped  for  awhile,  and  sighed,  to  answer,  "  No." 

And  thou,  serenest  moon, 

That,  with  so  holy  face, 
Dost  look  upon  the  world 

Asleep  in  night's  embrace; 
Tell  me,  in  all  thy  round, 

Hast  thou  not  seen  some  spot 
Where  miserable  man 

Might  find  a  happier  lot  ? 
Behind  a  cloud  the  moon  withdrew  in  woe  ; 
And  a  voice,  sweet  but  sad,  responded,  "  No." 

Tell  me,  immortal  soul, 

Oh !  tell  me,  Hope  and  Faith, 
Is  there  no  resting  place 

From  sorrow,  sin,  and  death? 
Is  there  no  happy  spot, 

Where  mortals  may  be  blest, 
Where  grief  may  find  a  balm, 

And  weariness  a  rest? 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  best  boons  to  mortals  given, 
Waved  their  bright  wings,  and  whispered,  uYen,  in  HEAVEN!' 


LXXIII.— THE  CROSS! 


THE  Cross  of  Christ,  when  first  preached  on  the  day  of 
Pentecost,  struck  a  chord  which  has  been  vibrating  in  the 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  151 

\ 

universe  of  mind  ever  since!  The  vibration  is  felt  here, 
and  is  extending  to  distant  nations  and  future  ages !  Time 
and  space,  as  it  regards  the  power  of  the  Cross,  are  with- 
out effect.  Past  and  present  offer  no  contrast.  The  Cross 
belongs  alike  to  all  time,  and  every  place.  Faith  and  im- 
pression make  us  a  party  to  the  scene ;  the  ground  even 
now,  is  trembling  with  the  earthquake  of  the  crucifixion! 

All  is  change  and  vicissitude;  the  world's  drama  is  un- 
folding; the  games  of  life  go  on;  passion  and  interest 
enslave  their  millions;  but  there  stands  the  Cross!  Let  its 
ministers  preach  it,  as  the  symbol  of  a  living,  not  a  van- 
ished creed.  Let  them  preach  it,  as  achieving  for  all  what 
no  man  can  achieve  for  himself,  or  confer  upon  another ! 
In  this  sign,  and  in  no  other,  we  conquer;  nor  can  we 
doubt  the  issue,  if  faithful  to  our  trust.  Rob  us  not,  then, 
earth  or  heaven  !  rob  us  not  of  a  single  foe  !  be  it  our  glory 
to  conquer  all ! 

Such  is  the  Cross,  and  such  some  of  the  aspects  in  which 
it  should  be  viewed  !  Nor  might  we  stop  here,  but  that 
thought  and  feeling,  with  lofty  emphasis  and  burning 
ardor,  transform  the  language  of  scripture  into  that  of  tri- 
umph and  acclaim;  and  the  only  utterance  left  us,  worthy 
of  our  joy,  is — the  Cross !  the  Cross  !  Sharing  alike  in  its 
glory,  and  lighted  up  with  its  splendor,  let  heaven  and 
earth  exchange  the  shout — the  Cross !  the  Cross  ! 

Let  the  Church  below,  bought  with  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb,  and  journeying  upward  to  his  seat,  make  it  their 
song  upon  the  road — the  Cross !  the  Cross !  Let  the 
Church  triumphant  above  catch  the  distant  sound,  and 
send  it  from  vault  to  vault,  through  all  the  temples  and 
pavilions  of  eternity — the  Cross !  the  Cross !  Let  those 
majestic  orbs  that,  in  peopled  immensity,  roll,  circling  the 
throne  of  God,  carry  it  through  all  their  revolution — the 
Cross !  the  Cross !  Let  angels  and  archangels  pass  the 
rapturous  acclaim — the  Cross  !  the  Cross !  Raise  it,  every 
voice  !  sound  it,  every  harp  !  the  Cross  !  the  Cross  !  From 
the  last  bounds  of  being,  from  world  to  world,  from  heaven 
to  heaven,  re-echo  the  Cross  !  the  Cross ! 

Martyrs  for  the  testimony  of  the  crucified ;  spirits  of  the 


152  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

just  and  mighty ;  all  beings ;  all  natures ;  lift,  lift  the  bold 
strain — the  Cross  !  the  Cross  !  Loud  as  the  sound  of  many 
waters  and  mighty  thunderings,  raise,  raise  the  overpower- 
ing symphony,  until  the  innumerable  systems,  every  column, 
and  every  dwelling  place  of  universal  being,  shall  vibrate 
with  the  triumphant  acclamation — the  Cross  !  the  Cross  ! 


LXXIV.-^IUSTICE. 

IN  this  world,  with  its  wild-whirling  eddies  and  mad 
foam-oceans,  where  men  and  nations  perish  as  if  without 
law,  and  judgment  for  an  unjust  thing  is  sternly  delayed, 
dost  thou  think  that  there  is  therefore  no  justice?  It  is 
what  the  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart.  It  is  what  the  wise, 
in  all  times,  were  wise  because  they  denied,  and  knew  for- 
ever not  to  be.  I  tell  thee  again  there  is  nothing  else  but 
justice.  One  strong  thing  I  find  here  below :  the  just 
thing,  the  true  thing. 

My  friend,  if  thou  hadst  all  the  artillery  of  Woolwich 
trundling  at  thy  back  in  support  of  an  unjust  thing,  and 
infinite  bonfires  visibly  waiting  ahead  of  thee,  to  blaze 
centuries  long  for  thy  victory  on  behalf  of  it,  I  would 
advise  thee  to  call  halt,  to  fling  down  thy  baton,  and  say, 
"  In  God's  name,  No  !" 

Thy  "success!"  What  will  thy  success  amount  to?  If 
the  thing  is  unjust,  thou  hast  not  succeeded ;  no,  not 
though  bonfires  blazed  from  north  to  south,  and  bells  rang, 
and  editors  wrote  leading  articles,  and  the  just  thing  lay 
trampled  out  of  sight,  to  all  mortal  eyes  an  abolished  and 
annihilated  thing.  Success?  In  a  few  years  thou  wilt  be 
dead  and  dark;  all  cold,  eyeless,  deaf;  no  blaze,  of  bonfires, 
ding-dong  of  bells,  or  leading-articles,  visible  or  audible  to 
thee  again  at  all  forever.  What  kind  of  success  is  that? 

FROM  CARLYLE. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  153 


LXXV.— MACDUFF  AND  KOSSK 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  Macbeth.  Macbeth  had  murdered  Dun- 
can, the  king  of  Scotland,  and  taken  possession  of  his  throne.  Mal- 
colm, a  son  of  Duncan,  had  fled  with  Macduff  and  other  Scottish 
noblemen,  to  collect  forces  to  meet  the  usurper.  In  this  scene,  Rosse 
arrives  with  the  news  that  MacdufTs  family  have,  also,  been  mur- 
dered. 

CHARACTERS. — Malcolm,  Mctcdvfl \  and  Rosse. 

Macduff.     SEE,  who  comes  here  ? 

Malcolm.     My  countryman ;  but  yet  I  know  him  not 
(Enter  Rosse.} 

Macd.     My  ever  gentle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 

Mai.     I  know  him  now.     May  God,  betimes,  remove 
The  means  that  make  us  strangers  1 

Rosse.     Sir,  Amen. 

Macd.     Stands  Scotland  where  it  did? 

Rosse.     Alas,  poor  country  ! 
Almost  afraid  to  know  itself!     It  can  not 
Be  called  our  mother,  but  our  grave :  where  nothing, 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile; 
Where  sighs,  and  groans,  and  shrieks,  that  rent  the  air, 
Are  made,  not  marked;  where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A  modern  ecstasy ;  the  dead  men's  knell 
Is  there  scarce  asked,  for  whom;  and  good  men's  lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 
Dying,  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macd.     O,  relation, 
Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true ! 

Mai.     What  is  the  newest  grief? 

Rosse.     That  of  an  hour's  age  doth  hiss  the  speaker. 
Each  minute  teems  a  new  one. 

Macd.     How  does  my  wife? 

Rosse.     Why,  well. 

Macd.     And  all  my  children  ? 

Rosse.     Well,  too. 

Macd.     The  tyrant  has  not  battered  at  their  peace  ? 

Rosse.     No.     They  were  well  at  peace,  when  I  did  leave  them, 

Macd.     Be  not  niggard  of  your  speech.     How  goes  it  ? 

Rosse.     When  I  came  hither  to  transport  the  tidings, 
Which  I  have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumor 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out; 
Which  was  to  my  belief  witnessed  the  rather, 


154  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

For  that  I  saw  the  tyrant's  power  afoot. 
Now  is  the  time  of  help.     Your  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  fight, 
To  doff  their  dire  distresses. 

Mai.     Be  it  their  comfort, 

We  are  coming  thither.     Gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Siward,  and  ten  thousand  men; 
An  older,  and  a  better  soldier,  none 
That  Christendom  gives  out 

Rosse.     Would  I  could  answer 
This  comfort  with  the  like!     But  I  have  words, 
That  would  be  howled  out  in  the  desert  air, 
Where  hearing  should  not  catch  them. 

Macd.     What  concern  they  ? 
The  general  cause?  or  is  it  a  fee-grief, 
Due  to  some  single  breast  ? 

Rosse.     No  mind,  that's  honest, 
But  in  it  shares  some  woe;  though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd.     If  it  be  mine, 
Keep  it  not  from  me.     Quickly  let  me  have  it 

Rosse.     Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  forever, 
Which  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 

Macd.     Hum!     I  guess  at  it 

Rosse.     Your  castle  is  surprised;  your  wife  and  babes 
Savagely  slaughtered.     To  relate  the  manner, 
Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murdered  deer, 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Mai.     Merciful  heaven! 

What!  man,  ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows; 
Give  sorrow  words :  the  grief  that  does  not  speak, 
Whispers  the  o'er-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break. 

Macd.     My  children,  too? 

Rosse.     Wife,  children,  servants,  all 
That  could  be  found. 

Macd.     And  I  must  be  from  thence ! 
My  wife  killed,  too! 

Rosse.     I  have  said. 

Mai.     Be  comforted. 

Let's  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge, 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macd.     He  has  no  children.     All  my  pretty  ones  ? 
Did  you  say,  alii    O,  hell-kite!     All? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES. 


What,  all  my  pretty  chickens,  and  their  damjtj  3T  I  V  2  K 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? 

Mai.     Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

Macd.     I  shall  do  so; 
But  I  must  also  feel  it  as  a  man. 
I  can  not  but  remember  such  things  were, 
That  were  most  precious  to  me.     Did  heaven  look  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part?    Sinful  Macduff, 
They  were  all  struck  for  thee !  naught  that  1  am ! 
Not  for  their  own  demerits  but  for  mine, 
Fell  slaughter  on  their  souls.     Heaven  rest  them  now! 

Mai.     Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword.     Let  grief 
Convert  to  anger;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macd.     O,  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes, 
And  braggart  with  my  tongue!     But,  gentle  Heaven, 
Cut  short  all  intermission.     Front  to  front, 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him ;  if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him,  too ! 

Mai.     This  tune  goes  manly. 
Come,  go  we  to  the  king.     Our  power  is  ready. 
Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave.     Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.     Receive  what  cheer  you  may. 
The  night  is  long,  that  never  finds  the  day.     (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


LXXVL— SECESSION.— No.  I. 

THIS  exercise  and  the  two  succeeding,  are  from  Webster's  celebrated 
speech,  delivered  in  the  Senate,  in  1850,  in  reply  to  a  threat  of  some 
States  to  secede,  and  form  a  separate  government.  The  three  or  either 
two  may  be  spoken  as  one,  or  each  may  be  spoken  independently. 

A  PRINCIPAL  object,  in  his  late  political  movements,  the 
gentleman  himself  tells  us,  was  to  unite  the  entire  South. 
Against  whom,  or  against  what,  does  he  wish  to  unite  the 
entire  South  ?  Is  not  this  the  very  essence  of  local  feel- 
ing and  local  regard  ?  Is  it  not  the  acknowledgment  of  a 
wish  and  object  to  create  political  strength,  by  uniting 
political  opinions  geographically?  While  the  gentleman 
wishes  to  unite  the  entire  South,  I  pray  to  know  if  he  ex- 
pects me  to  turn  toward  the  polar-star,  and,  acting  on  the 


156  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKEK. 

same  principle,  to  utter  a  cry  of  rally!  to  the  whole  North? 
Heaven  forbid  !  To  the  day  of  my  death,  neither  he  nor 
others  shall  hear  such  a  cry  from  me. 

The  honorable  member  declares  that  he  shall  now  march 
off,  under  the  banner  of  State  rights !  March  off  from 
whom?  March  off  from  what?  We  have  been  contending 
for  great  principles.  We  have  been  struggling  to  maintain 
the  liberty  and  to  restore  the  prosperity  of  the  country. 
We  have  made  these  struggles  here,  in  the  national  coun- 
cils, with  the  old  flag,  the  true  American  flag,  the  Eagle, 
and  the  Stars,  and  Stripes,  waving  over  the  chamber  in 
which  we  sit.  He  now  tells  us,  however,  that  he  marches 
off  under  the  State-rights  banner! 

Let  him  go.  I  remain.  I  am,  where  I  ever  have  been, 
and  ever  mean  to  be.  Here,  standing  on  the  platform  of 
the  .general  constitution, — a  platform  broad  enough,  and 
firm  enough,  to  uphold  every  interest  of  the  whole  coun- 
try,— I  shall  still  be  found.  Intrusted  with  some  part  in 
the  administration  of  that  constitution,  I  intend  to  act  in 
its  spirit,  and  in  the  spirit  of  those  who  framed  it.  I 
would  act  as  if  our  fathers,  who  formed  it  for  us,  and  who 
bequeathed  it  to  us,  were  looking  on  me;  as  if  I  could  see 
their  venerable  forms,  bending  down  to  behold  us  from  the 
abodes  above !  I  would  act,  too,  as  if  the  eye  of  posterity 
was  gazing  on  me. 

Standing  thus,  as  in  the  full  gaze  of  our  ancestors  and 
our  posterity,  having  received  this  inheritance  from  the 
former  to  be  transmitted  to  the  latter,  and  feeling  that,  if 
I  am  born  for  any  good,  in  my  day  and  generation,  it  is 
for  the  good  of  the  whole  country ;  no  local  policy,  no 
local  feeling,  no  temporary  impulse,  shall  induce  me  to 
yield  my  foothold  on  the  constitution  and  the  Union.  I 
move  off  under  no  banner  not  known  to  the  whole  Ameri- 
can people,  and  to  their  constitution  and  laws.  No,  sir  1 
these  walls,  these  columns 

«  Shall  fly 

From  their  firm  base,  as  soon  as  I." 
FROM  WEBSTER. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  157 


LXXVIL—  SECESSION.— No.  II. 

HE  who  sees  these  States  now  revolving  in  harmony 
around  a  common  center,  and  expects  to  see  them  quit  their 
places  and  fly  off  without  convulsion,  may  look  the  next 
hour  to  see  the  heavenly  bodies  rush  from  their  spheres, 
and  jostle  against  each  other  in  the  realms  of  space,  with- 
out causing  the  crush  of  the  universe.  There  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  a  peaceable  secession.  Peaceable  secession  is 
an  utter  impossibility. 

Is  the  great  constitution  under  which  we  live,  covering 
this  whole  country,  is  it  to  be  thawed  and  melted  away  by 
secession,  as  the  snows  on  the  mountain  melt  under  the 
influence  of  a  vernal  sun,  disappear  almost  unobserved, 
and  run  off?  No,  sir!  No,  sip!  I  will  not  state  what 
might  produce  the  disruption  of  the  Union.  But,  I  see,  as 
plainly  as  I  see  the  sun  in  heaven,  what  that  disruption 
itself  must  produce.  I  see  that  it  must  produce  war,  and 
such  a  war  as  I  will  not  describe. 

Peaceable  secession  I  Peaceable  secession !  The  con- 
current agreement  of  all  the  members  of  this  great  re- 
public to  separate!  A  voluntary  separation!  Why,  what 
would  be  the  result?  Where  is  the  line  to  be  drawn? 
What  States  are  to  secede  ?  What  is  to  remain  American  ? 
What  am  I  to  be  ?  An  American  no  longer  ?  Am  I  to 
become  a  sectional  man,  a  local  man,  a  separatist,  with  no 
country  in  common  with  the  gentlemen  who  sit  around  me 
here,  or  who  fill  the  other  House  of  Congress  ?  Heaven 
forbid !  Where  is  the  flag  of  the  republic  to  remain  ? 
Where  is  the  eagle  still  to  tower?  or  is  he  to  cower,  and 
shrink,  and  fall  to  the  ground? 

Why,  sir,  our  ancestors,  our  fathers  and  our  grand- 
fathers, those  of  them  that  are  yet  living  among  us,  with 
prolonged  lives,  would  rebuke  and  reproach  us.  Our  chil- 
dren and  our  grandchildren  would  cry  out  shame  upon  us, 
if  we,  of  this  generation,  should  dishonor  these  ensigns  of 
the  power  of  the  government  and  the  harmony  of  that 
union,  which  is  every  day  felt  among  us  with  so  much  joy 


158  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

and  gratitude.  What  is  to  become  of  the  army?  What 
is  to  become  of  the  navy?  What  is  to  become  of  the 
public  lands?  How  is  any  one  of  the  thirty  States  to  de- 
fend itself? 

We  could  not  sit  down  here  to-day,  and  draw  a  line  of 
separation  that  would  satisfy  any  five  men  in  the  country. 
There  are  natural  causes  that  would  keep  and  tie  us  to- 
gether. There  are  social  and  domestic  relations  which  we 
could  not  break,  if  we  would,  and  which  we  should  not,  if 
we  could. 

I  am  ashamed  to  pursue  this  line  of  remark.  I  dislike 
it.  I  have  an  utter  disgust  for  it.  I  would  rather  hear  of 
natural  mildews  and  blasts,  war,  pestilence,  and  famine, 
than  to  hear  gentlemen  talk  of  secession.  To  break  up  !  to 
break  up  this  great  government !  to  dismember  this  great 
country  !  to  astonish  Europe  with  an  act  of  folly,  such  as 
Europe,  for  two  centuries,  has  never  beheld  in  any  govern- 
ment !  No,  sir !  No,  sir !  There  will  be  no  secession. 
Gentlemen  are  not  serious,  when  they  talk  of  secession. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


LXXVIII.— SECESSION.— No.  III. 

INSTEAD  of  speaking  of  the  possibility  or  utility  of 
secession,  instead  of  dwelling  in  these  caverns  of  darkness, 
instead  of  groping  with  those  ideas  so  full  of  all  that  is 
horrid  and  horrible,  let  us  come  out  into  the  light  of  day. 
Let  us  enjoy  the  fresh  air  of  liberty  and  union.  Let  us 
cherish  those  hopes  which  belong  to  us.  Let  us  devote 
ourselves  to  those  great  objects  that  are  fit  for  our  con- 
sideration and  our  action.  Let  us  raise  our  conceptions  to 
the  magnitude  and  importance  of  the  duties  that  devolve 
upon  us.  Let  our  comprehension  be  as  broad  as  the  country 
for  which  we  act,  our  aspirations  as  high  as  its  certain  des- 
tiny. Let  us  not  be  pigmies  in  a  case  that  calls  for  men. 

Never  did  there  devolve  on  any  generation  of  men  higher 
trusts  than  now  devolve  upon  us,  for  the  preservation  of 
this  constitution,  and  the  harmony  and  peace  of  all  who 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  159 

are  destined  to  live  under  it.  Let  us  make  our  generation 
one  of  the  strongest  and  brightest  links  in  that  golden 
chain,  which  is  destined,  L  fondly  believe,  to  grapple  the 
people  of  all  the  States  to  this  constitution  for  ages  to  come. 

We  have  a  great,  popular,  constitutional  government, 
guarded  by  Law  and  by  judicature,  and  defended  by  the 
whole  affections  of  the  people.  No  monarchical  throne 
presses  these  States  together.  No  iron  chain  of  military 
power  encircles  them.  They  live  and  stand  upon  a  govern- 
ment popular  in  its  form,  representative  in  its  character, 
founded  upon  principles  of  equality,  and  so  constructed, 
we  hope,  as  to  last  forever. 

In  all  its  history  it  has  been  beneficent.  It  has  trodden 
down  no  man's  liberty,  it  has  crushed  no  State.  Its  daily 
respiration  is  liberty  and  patriotism.  Its  yet  youthful  veins 
are  full  of  enterprise,  courage,  and  honorable  love  of  glory 
and  renown.  Large  before,  the  country  has  now,  by  recent 
events,  become  vastly  larger.  This  republic  now  extends, 
with  a  vast  breadth,  across  the  whole  continent.  The  two 
great  seas  of  the  world  wash  the  one  and  the  other  shore. 
We  realize,  on  a  mighty  scale,  the  beautiful  description  of 
the  ornamental  edging  of  the  buckler  of  Achilles, — 

"  Now  the  broad  shield  complete,  the  artist  crowned 
With  his  last  hand,  and  poured  the  ocean  round: 
In  living  silver  seemed  the  waves  to  roll, 
And  beat  the  buckler's  verge,  and  bound  the  whole.7' 

FKOM  WEBSTEE. 


LXXIX.— THE  AMERICAN  REPUBLIC. 

THE  name  of  Commonwealth  is  past  and  gone, 
Over  three  fractions  of  the  groaning  globe : 
Venice  is  crushed,  and  Holland  deigns  to  own 
A  scepter,  and  endures  a  purple  robe: 
If  the  free  Switzer  yet  bestrides  alone 
His  chainless  mountains,  'tis  but  for  a  time; 
For  tyranny  of  late  has  cunning  grown, 
And,  in  its  own  good  season,  tramples  down 
The  sparkles  of  our  ashes. 


160  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

One  great  clime, 

Whose  vigorous  offspring  by  dividing  ocean 
Are  kept  apart,  and  nursed,  in  the  devotion 
Of  Freedom,  which  their  fathers  fought  for,  and 
Bequeathed — a  heritage  of  heart  and  hand, 
And  proud  distinction  from  each  other  land, 
Whose  sons  must  bow  them  at  a  monarch's  motion, 
As  if  his  senseless  scepter  were  a  wand, 
r  Full  of  the  magic  of  exploded  science — 
Still  one  great  clime,  in  full  and  free  defiance, 
Yet  rears  her  crest,  unconquered  and  sublime, 
Above  the  far  Atlantic! 

She  has  taught 

Her  Esau-brethren  that  the  haughty  flag, 
The  floating  fence  of  Albion's  feebler  crag, 
May  strike  to  those  whose  red  right  hands  have  bought 
Rights  cheaply  earned  with  blood.    Still,  still  forever 
Better,  though  each  man's  life-blood  were  a  river, 
That  it  should  flow,  and  overflow,  than  creep 
Through  thousand  lazy  channels  in  our  veins, 
Dammed,  like  the  dull  canal,  with  locks  and  chains, 
And  moving,  as  a  sick  man  in  his  sleep, 
Three  paces,  and  then  faltering. 

Better  be 

Where  the  extinguished  Spartans  still  are  free, 
In  their  proud  charnel  of  Thermopylae, 
Than  stagnate  in  our  marsh;  or  o'er  the  deep 
Fly,  and  one  current  to  the  ocean  add, 
One  spirit  to  the  souls  our  fathers  had, 
One  freeman  more,  AMERICA,  to  theel          FROM  BYRON. 


LXXX.— THE  UNION.— No.  I. 

THESE  three  exercises  form  a  consecutive  extract  (with  some  alter- 
ftlion)  from  a  speech  of  Henry  Clay,  and  may  be  spoken  separately 
or  as  one.  Any  two  may  be  appropriately  united. 

THIS  Union  is  threatened  with  subversion.  Let  us  look 
back  upon  the  career  which  this  country  has  run,  since  the 
adoption  of  this  Constitution,  down  to  the  present  day. 
Was  there  ever  a  nation,  upon  which  the  sun  of  heaven  has 
shone,  that  has  exhibited  so  much  of  prosperity? 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  161 

At  the  commencement  of  this  government,  our  popula- 
tion amounted  to  about  four  millions.  It  has  now  reached 
upward  of  twenty  millions.  Our  territory  was  limited.  It 
now  extends  from  the  northern  provinces  of  Great  Britain 
to  the  Rio  Grande  and  the  gulf  of  Mexico,  on  one  side, 
and  from  the  Atlantic  ocean  to  the  Pacific,  on  the  other 
side;  the  largest  extent  of  territory  under  any  government 
that  exists  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  with  only  two  excep- 
tions. Our  tunnage,  from  being  nothing,  has  risen  in  mag- 
nitude and  amount,  so  as  to  rival  that  of  the  nation  which 
has  been  proudly  characterized,  "the  mistress  of  the  ocean." 

We  have  gone  through  many  wars;  wars  too  with  the 
very  nation  from  whom  we  separated  in  1776,  as  weak  and 
feeble  colonies,  and  asserted  our  independence,  as  a  member 
of  the  family  of  nations.  And  we  came  out  of  that  struggle, 
unequal  as  it  was,  armed  as  she  was  at  all  points,  and  un- 
armed as  we  were,  we  came,  I  say,  out  of  that  war  without 
any  loss  of  honor  whatever.  We  emerged  from  it  glo- 
riously ! 

Our  prosperity  is  unbounded.  Nay,  I  sometimes  fear 
that  it  is  in  the  wantonness  of  that  prosperity,  that  many  of 
the  threatening  ills  of  the  moment  have  arisen.  Wild  and 
erratic  schemes  have  sprung  up,  throughout  the  whole 
country,  some  of  which  have  even  found  their  way  into 
legislative  halls.  There  is  a  restlessness  existing  among 
us,  which,  I  fear,  will  require  the  chastisement  of  Heaven  to 
bring  us  back  to  a  sense  of  the  immeasurable  benefits  and 
blessings  which  have  been  bestowed  upon  us  by  Providence. 

At  this  moment,  all  is  prosperity  and  peace;  and  the 
nation  is  rich  and  powerful.  Our  country  has  grown  to 
a  magnitude,  to  a  power  and  greatness,  such  as  to  com- 
mand the  respect,  if  it  does  not  awaken  the  apprehensions, 
of  the  powers  of  the  earth  with  whom  we  come  in  contact. 
Such  is  the  Union.  Such  are  the  glorious  fruits  which 
are  now  threatened  with  subversion  and  destruction. 

FROM  HENRY  CLAY. 

NEW  EC.  S.— 14 


162  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


LXXXL— THE  UNION.— No.  II. 

I  HERE  say  that,  in  my  opinion j  there  is  no  right,  on  the 
part  of  any  one  or  more  of  the  States,  to  secede  from  the 
Union.  War  and  dissolution  of  the  Union  are  identical 
and  inevitable.  There  can  he  a  dissolution  of  the  Union 
onlyl>y  consent  or  hy  war.  Consent  no  one  can  anticipate, 
from  any  existing  state  of  things,  as  likely  to  he  given. 
War  is  the  only  alternative  by  which  a  dissolution  could 
be  accomplished. 

I  am  directly  opposed  to  any  purpose  of  secession  or 
separation.  I  am  for  staying  within  the  Union,  and  defying 
any  portion  of  this  confederacy  to  expel  me  or  drive  me 
out  of  the  Union.  I  am  for  staying  within  the  Union, 
and  fighting  for  my  rights,  if  necessary,  with  the  sword, 
within  the  bounds  and  under  the  safeguard  of  the  Union. 
I  am  for  vindicating  those  rights,  not  by  being  driven  out 
of  the  Union  harshly  and  unceremoniously,  by  any  portion 
of  this  confederacy.  Here  I  am  within  it.  Here  I  mean 
to  stand  and  die,  as  far  as  my  individual  wishes  or  pur- 
poses can  go,  within  it,  to  protect  my  property  and  defend 
myself,  defying  all  the  power  on  earth  to  expel  me,  or  drive 
me  from  the  situation  in  which  I  am  placed. 

And  would  there  not  be  more  safety  in  fighting  within 
the  Union  than  out  of  it?  Suppose  your  rights  to  be  vio- 
lated, suppose  wrong  to  be  done  you,  aggression  to  be 
perpetrated  upon  you,  can  you  not  better  vindicate  them, 
within,  and  with  the  sympathies  of  a  large  portion  of  the 
population  of  the  Union,  than  by  being  without  the  Union, 
when  a  large  portion  of  the  populace  have  sympathies 
adverse  to  our  own  ?  You  can  vindicate  your  rights  within 
the  Union,  better  than  if  expelled  from  the  Union,  and 
driven  from  it  without  ceremony  and  without  authority. 

I  have  said  that  I  thought  that  there  was  no  right,  on 
the  part  of  one  or  more  States,  to  secede  from  the  Union. 
I  think  so.  The  constitution  of  the  United  States  was 
made  not  merely  for  the  generation  that  then  existed,  but 
for  posterity;  unlimited,  undefined,  endless,  perpetual  pos- 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  163 

terity.  And  every  State  that  then  came  into  the  Union, 
and  every  State  that  has  since  come  into  the  Union,  came 
into  it,  binding  itself  by  indissoluble  bands  to  remain  within 
the  Union  itself,  and  to  remain  within  it,  by  its  posterity, 
forever.  FROM  HENRY  CLAY. 


LXXXIL— THE  UNION.— No.  III. 

I  SOLEMNLY  believe,  that  dissolution  of  the  Union  and 
war  are  identical  and  inevitable ;  that  they  are  convertible 
terms;  and  such  a  war  as  it  would  be,  following  a  dissolu- 
tion of  the  Union !  We  may  search  the  pages  of  history, 
and  none  so  ferocious,  so  bloody,  so  implacable,  so  extermi- 
nating,— not  even  the  wars  of  Greece,  not  even  those  of  the 
commoners  of  England  and  the  revolutions  of  France, — 
none,  none  of  them  have  raged  with  such  violence,  or  been 
characterized  with  such  bloodshed  and  enormities,  as  would 
the  war  which  must  succeed  the  dissolution  of  the  Union. 

And  what  would  be  its  termination?  Standing  armies 
and  navies,  stretching  the  revenues  of  each  portion  of  the 
dissevered  members,  would  take  place.  An  exterminating 
war  would  follow;  not  a  war  of  two  or  three  years'  dura- 
tion, but  a  war  of  interminable  duration.  Exterminating 
wars  would  ensue,  until,  after  the  struggles  and  exhaustion 
of  both  parties,  some  Philip  or  Alexander,  some  Caesar  or 
Napoleon,  would  cut  the  Gordian  knot,  and  solve  the 
problem  of  the  capacity  of  man  for  self-government.  Can 
you  doubt  it? 

Look  at  all  history.  Consult  her  pages,  ancient  or 
modern.  Look  at  human  nature.  Look  at  the  character 
of  the  contest  in  which  you  would  be  engaged,  on  the  sup- 
position of  war  following  upon  the  dissolution  of  the  Union, 
such  as  I  have  suggested.  I  ask  you,  if  it  is  possible  for 
you  to  doubt  that  the  final  disposition  of  the  whole,  would 
be  some  despot  treading  down  the  liberties  of  the  people; 
that  the  final  result  would  be  the  extinction  of  this  last  and 
glorious  light,  which  is  leading  all  mankind  to  hope  that 
the  liberty  which  prevails  here,  will  yet  be  diffused  through- 


164  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

out  the  whole  of  the  civilized  world.  Can  you  lightly  con- 
template these  consequences?  Can  you  yield  yourself  to 
the  tyranny  of  passion,  amid  dangers  which  I  have  depicted 
in  colors  far  too  tame,  of  what  the  result  would  be  if  that 
direful  event  to  which  I  have  referred  should  ever  occur? 

I  implore  gentlemen,  I  adjure  them,  whether  from  the 
South  or  the  North,  by  all  they  hold  dear  in  this  world; 
by  all  their  love  of  liberty;  by  all  their  veneration  for  their 
ancestors;  by  all  their  regard  for  posterity;  by  all  their 
gratitude  to  Him  who  has  bestowed  on  them  such  unnum- 
bered and  countless  blessings;  by  all  the  duties  which  they 
owe  to  mankind;  and  by  all  the  duties  which  they  owe  to 
themselves,  to  pause,  at  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  before 
the  fearful  and  dangerous  leap  is  taken  into  the  yawning 
abyss  below,  from  which  none,  who  ever  take  it,  shall  return 
in  safety. 

Finally,  I  implore,  as  the  best  blessing  which  Heaven  can 
bestow  upon  me  upon  earth,  that,  if  the  direful  and  sad 
event  of  the  dissolution  of  this  Union  is  to  happen,  I  shall 
not  survive  to  behold  the  sad  and  heart-rending  spectacle. 

FROM  HENRY  CLAY. 


LXXXIII.— SCENE  AFTER  A  BATTLE. 

ALP  wandered  on,  along  the  beach, 
Till  within  the  range  of  a  carbine's  reach 
Of  the  leagured  wall ;  but  they  saw  him  not, 
Or  how  could  he  'scape  from  the  hostile  shot? 
Did  traitors  lurk  in  the  Christians'  hold? 
Were  their  hands  grown  stiff,  or  their  hearts  waxed  cold? 

I  know  not,  in  sooth;  but  from  yonder  wall 
There  flashed  no  fire,  and  there  hissed  no  ball, 
Though  he  stood  beneath  the  bastion's  frown, 
That  flanked  the  seaward  gate  of  the  town ; 
Though  he  heard  the  sound  and  could  almost  tell 
The  sullen  words  of  the  sentinel, 
As  his  measured  step  on  the  stone  below 
Clanked,  as  he  paced  it  to  and  fro: 
And  he  saw  the  lean  dogs  beneath  the  wall 
Hold  o'er  the  dead  their  carnival, 


ECLECTIC    SEEIES.  165 

Gorging  and  growling  o'er  carcass  and  limb; 
They  were  too  busy  to  bark  at  him ! 

From  a  Tartar's  skull  they  had  stripped  the  flesh, 
As  ye  peel  the  fig  when  its  fruit  is  fresh; 
And  their  white  tusks  craunched  o'er  the  whiter  skull, 
As  it  slipped  through  their  jaws  when  their  edge  grew  dull, 
As  they  lazily  mumbled  the  bones  of  the  dead, 
When  they  scarce  could  rise  from  the  spot  where  they  fed; 
So  well  had  they  broken  a  lingering  fast 
With  those  who  had  fallen  for  that  night's  repast. 

And  Alp  knew,  by  the  turbans  that  rolled  on  the  sand, 
The  foremost  of  these  were  the  best  of  his  band. 
The  scalps  were  in  the  wild  dog's  maw, 
The  hair  was  tangled  round  his  jaw. 
But  close  by  the  shore,  on  the  edge  of  the  gulf, 
There  sat  a  vulture  flapping  a  wolf, 
Who  had  stolen  from  the  hills,  but  kept  away, 
Scared  by  the  dogs,  from  the  human  prey; 
But  he  seized  on  his  share  of  a  steed  that  lay, 
Picked  by  the  birds  on  the  sands  of  the  bay. 

Alp  turned  him  from  the  sickening  sight: 
Never  had  shaken  his  nerves  in  fight; 
But  he  better  could  brook  to  behold  the  dying, 
Deep  in  the  tide  of  their  warm  blood  lying, 
Scorched  with  the  death-thirst,  and  writhing  in  vain, 
Than  the  perishing  dead  who  are  past  all  pain. 

There  is  something  of  pride  in  the  perilous  hour, 
Whate'er  be  the  shape  in  which  death  may  lower; 
For  Fame  is  there  to  say  who  bleeds, 
And  Honor's  eye  on  daring  deeds! 
But  when  all  is  past,  it  is  humbling  to  tread 
O'er  the  weltering  field  of  the  tombless  dead, 
And  see  worms  of  the  earth,  and  fowls  of  the  air, 
Beasts  of  the  forest,  all  gathering  there ; 
All  regarding  man  as  their  prey, 
All  rejoicing  in  his  decay! 

FROM  BYRON. 


166  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 


LXXXIV.— NOT  ON  THE  BATTLEFIELD. 

O,  NO,  no !  Let  me  lie 
Not  on  a  field  of  battle  when  I  die! 

Let  not  the  iron  tread 
Of  the  mad  war-horse  crush  my  helm-ed  head; 

Nor  let  the  reeking  knife 
That  I  have  drawn  against  a  brother's  life, 

Be  in  my  hand,  when  death 
Thunders  along  and  tramples  me  beneath 

His  heavy  squadron's  heels, 
Or  gory  fellies  of  his  cannon's  wheels. 

From  such  a  dying  bed, 
Though  o'er  it  float  the  stripes  of  white  and  red, 

And  the  bald  eagle  brings 
The  clustered  stars  upon  his  wide-spread  wings, 

To  sparkle  in  my  sight, 
O,  never  let  my  spirit  take  her  flight. 

I  know  that  beauty's  eye 
Is  all  the  brighter  when  gay  pennants  fly, 

And  brazen  helmets  dance, 
And  sunshine  flashes  on  the  lifted  lance. 

I  know  that  bards  have  sung, 
And  people  shouted  till  the  welkin  rung, 

In  honor  of  the  brave, 
Who  on  the  battlefield  have  found  a  grave. 

I  know  that  o'er  their  bones, 
Have  grateful  hands  piled  monumental  stones. 

Such  honors  grace  the  bed, 
I  know,  whereon  the  warrior  lays  his  head, 

And  hears,  as  life  ebbs  out, 
The  conquered  flying,  and  the  conqueror's  shout. 

But  as  his  eyes  grow  dim, 
What  is  a  column  or  a  mound,  to  him  ? 

What,  to  the  parting  soul, 
The  mellow  notes  of  bugles  ?     What  the  roll 

Of  drums? 

No  !     Let  me  die 
Where  the  blue  heaven  bends  o'er  me  lovingly, 

And  the  soft  summer  air, 
As  it  goes  by  me,  stirs  my  thin,  white  hair, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  167 

And,  from  my  forehead,  dries 
The  death-damp,  as  it  gathers,  and  the  skies 

Seem  waiting  to  receive 
My  soul  to  their  clear  depths ! 

Or,  let  me  leave 

The  world,  when,  round  my  bed, 
Wife,  children,  weeping  friends  are  gathered, 

And  the  calm  voice  of  prayer 
And  holy  hymning  shall  my  soul  prepare 

To  go  and  be  at  rest, 
With  kindred  spirits  who  have  blessed 

The  human  brotherhood, 
By  labors,  cares,  and  counsels  for  their  good 

And  in  my  dying  hour, 
When  riches,  fame,  and  honor  have  no  power 

To  bear  the  spirit  up, 
Or  from  my  lips  to  turn  aside  the  cup 

That  all  must  drink  at  last, 
0,  let  me  draw  refreshment  from  the  past! 

Then,  let  my  soul  run  back, 
With  peace  and  joy,  along  my  earthly  track, 

And  see  that  all  the  seeds 
That  I  have  scattered  there,  in  virtuous  deeds, 

Have  sprung  up  and  have  .given, 
Already,  fruits  of  which  to  taste  in  Heaven ! 

FROM  PIERPONT. 


LXXXV.— NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.— No.  I. 

CORTEGE;  pro.  cor-tazhe;  a  train  of  attendants. 

NAPOLEON'S  reign  was  nothing  but  a  campaign ;  his  em- 
pire, a  field  of  battle  as  extensive  as  all  Europe.  He  con- 
centrated the  rights  of  people  and  of  kings  in  his  sword  ; 
all  morality,  in  the  number  and  strength  of  his  armies. 
Nothing  which  threatened  him,  was  innocent.  Nothing 
which  placed  an  obstacle  in  his  way,  was  sacred.  Nothing 
which  preceded  him  in  date,  was  worthy  of  respect.  From 
himself  alone  he  wished  Europe  to  date  its  epoch. 

He    swept    away   the    republic,   with    the    tread    of  his 


168  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

soldiers.  He  trampled  on  the  throne  of  the  Bourbons  in 
exile.  Like  a  murderer,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  he 
seized  upon  the  bravest  and  the  most  confiding  of  the 
military  princes  of  this  race,  in  a  foreign  country.  He 
slew  him  in  the  ditch  of  Vincennes,  by  a  singular  pre- 
sentiment of  crime,  which  showed  him,  in  this  youth,  the 
only  armed  competitor  of  the  throne  against  him,  or  against 
his  race. 

He  conquered  Italy,  Germany,  Prussia,  Holland,  Spain, 
Naples, — kingdoms  and  republics.  He  carved  out  the  con- 
tinent, made  a  new  distribution  of  nations,  and  raised  up 
thrones  for  all  his  family.  He  expended  ten  generations 
of  France,  to  establish  a  royal  dynasty  for  each  of  the 
sons  or  daughters  of  his  mother. 

His  fame,  which  grew  incessantly  in  noise  and  splendor, 
imparted  to  France  and  to  Europe  that  vertigo  of  glory, 
which  hides  the  immorality  and  the  abyss  of  such  a  reign. 
He  created  the  attraction,  and  was  followed  even  to  the 
delirium,  of  the  Russian  campaign.  He  floated  in  a  whirl- 
wind of  events  so  vast  and  so  rapid,  that  even  three  years 
of  errors  did  not  occasion  his  fall.  Spain  devoured  his 
armies.  Russia  served  as  a  sepulcher  to  seven  hundred 
thousand  men.  Dresden  and  Leipsic  swallowed  up  the 
rest.  Germany,  exasperated,  deserted  his  cause. 

The  whole  of  Europe  hemmed  him  in,  and  pursued  him 
from  the  Rhine  to  the  Pyrenees,  with  a  mighty  tide  of 
people.  France,  exhausted  and  disaffected,  saw  him  com- 
bat and  sink,  without  raising  an  arm  hi  his  cause.  Every 
thing  was  annihilated  around  his  throne,  but  his  glory  re- 
mained soaring  above  his  head.  He  at  length  capitulated, 
or,  rather,  France  capitulated  without  him,  and  he  traveled 
alone,  across  his  conquered  country,  and  his  ravaged  prov- 
inces, the  rout  to  his  first  exile  ;  his  only  cortege  the  resent- 
ments and  the  murmurs  of  his  country. 

FROM  LAMARTINE. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  169 

LXXXVL—  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.— No.  II. 

CHARLEMAGNE;  pro.  Shar-ly-main. 

WHAT  remains  of  Napoleon's  long  reign?  For  this  is 
the  criterion  by  which  God  and  man  judge  the  political 
genius  of  founders.  Life  is  judged  by  what  survives  it. 
Napoleon  left  freedom  chained,  human  conscience  resold, 
philosophy  proscribed,  the  human  mind  diminished.  He 
left  schools  converted  into  barracks,  literature  degraded  by 
censorship,  election  abolished,  the  arts  enslaved,  commerce 
destroyed,  navigation  suppressed.  He  left  the  people  op- 
pressed, or  enrolled  in  the  army,  paying,  in  blood  or  taxes, 
the  ambition  of  an  unequaled  soldier,  but  covering,  with 
the  great  name  of  France,  the  miseries  and  degradations 
of  the  country. 

This  is  the  founder !  This  is  the  man !  a  man,  instead 
of  a  revolution !  a  man,  instead  of  an  epoch !  a  man,  in- 
stead of  a  country!  a  man,  instead  of  a  nation!  Nothing 
after  him !  Nothing  around  him  but  his  shadow.  Per- 
sonal glory  will  be  always  spoken  of  as  characterizing  the 
age  of  Napoleon.  But  it  will  never  merit  the  praise  be- 
stowed upon  that  of  Augustus,  of  Charlemagne,  and  of 
Louis  XIV.  There  is  no  age.  There  is  only  a  name. 
And  this  name  signifies  nothing  to  humanity,  but  himself. 

He  was  false  in  institutions,  for  he  retrograded ;  false  in 
policy,  for  he  debased ;  false  in  morals,  for  he  corrupted ; 
false  in  civilization,  for  he  oppressed ;  false  in  diplomacy, 
for  he  isolated.  He  was  only  true  in  war;  for  he  shed  tor- 
rents of  human  blood.  But  what  can  we,  then,  allow  him? 
His  individual  genius  was  great ;  but  it  was  the  genius  of 
materialism.  His  intelligence  was  vast  and  clear;  but  it 
was  the  intelligence  of  calculation.  He  counted,  he 
weighed,  he  measured  ;  but  he  felt  not ;  he  loved  not ;  he 
sympathized  with  none;  he  was  a  statue  rather  than  a  man. 
All  was  solid  ;  nothing  gushed  forth.  In  that  mind  nothing 
was  moved. 

His  metalic  nature  was  felt  even  in  his  style.  Much 
superior  to  Caesar  in  the  account  of  his  campaigns,  his  style 
NEW  EC.  S. — 15 


170  M^GUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

is  not  the  written  expression  alone;  it  is  the  action.  Every 
sentence  in  his  pages  is,  so  to  speak,  the  counterpart  and 
counter-impression  of  the  fact.  His  phrases  concise,  but 
struck  off  without  ornament,  recall  those  times  when  Baja- 
zet  and  Charlemagne,  not  knowing  how  to  write  their 
names  at  the  bottom  of  their  imperial  acts,  dipped  their 
hands  in  ink  or  blood,  and  applied  them  with  all  their 
articulations  impressed  upon  the  parchment.  It  was  not 
the  signature.  It  was  the  hand  itself  of  the  hero,  thus 
fixed  eternally  before  the  eyes.  And  such  were  the  pages 
of  his  campaigns,  dictated  by  Napoleon ;  the  very  soul  of 
movement,  of  action,  and  of  combat. 

This  celebrity,  which  will  descend  to  posterity,  and  which 
is  improperly  called  glory,  constituted  his  means  and  his 
end.  Let  him  therefore  enjoy  it.  The  noise  he  has  made 
will  resound  through  distant  ages.  But  let  it  not  pervert 
posterity,  or  falsify  the  judgment, of  mankind.  This  man, 
one  of  the  greatest  creations  of  God,  applied  himself  with 
greater  power  than  any  other  man  ever  possessed,  to  check 
the  march  of  ideas,  and  make  all  received  truths  retrace 
their  steps.  But  time  has  overleaped  him.  Truths  and 
ideas  have  resumed  their  ordinary  current.  He  is  admired 
as  a  soldier.  He  is  measured  as  a  sovereign.  He  is  judged 
as  a  founder  of  nations ;  great  in  action,  little  in  idea, 

NOTHING  in  VIRTUE.     Such  is  man! 

FROM  LAMARTINE. 


LXXXVIL— LA  FAYETTE'S  VISIT  TO  AMERICA. 

LA  FAYETTE,  a  wealthy  French  nobleman,  who  had  devoted  his 
fortune  and  his  youth  to  the  cause  of  American  independence, 
revisited  this  country,  after  some  40  years'  absence,  as  described  in 
this  most  eloquent  extract. 

IN  1824,  a  single  ship  furled  her  snowy  sails  in  the 
harbor  of  New  York.  Scarcely  had  her  prow  touched  the 
shore,  when  a  murmur  was  heard  among  the  multitude, 
which  gradually  deepened  into  a  mighty  shout,  and  that 
shout  was  a  shout  of  joy.  And  again  and  again,  were  the 
heavens  rent  with  the  aspiring  sound.  Nor  did  it  cease, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  171 

for  the  loud  strain  was  carried  from  city  to  city  and  from 
state  to  state,  till  not  a  tongue  was  silent  throughout  this 
wide  republic,  from  the  lisping  infant  to  the  tremulous 
old  man. 

All  were  united  in  one  wild  shout  of  gratulation.  The 
voices  of  more  than  ten  millions  of  freemen  gushed  up 
toward  the  sky,  and  broke  the  stillness  of  its  silent  depths. 
And  but  one  note,  and  but  one  tone  went  to  form  this 
acclamation.  And  up  in  those  pure  regions,  clearly  and 
sweetly  did  it  sound,  "Honor  to  La  Fayette  !"  "Welcome 
to  the  Nation's  Guest!"  And  it  was  La  Fayette,  the  war- 
worn veteran,  whose  arrival  on  our  shores  had  caused  this 
wide-spread  joy. 

He  came  among  us  to  behold  the  independence  and  the 
freedom  which  his  young  arm  had  well  assisted  in  achiev- 
ing; and  never  before  did  eye  behold  or  heart  of  man 
conceive  such  homage  paid  to  virtue.  His  whole  stay  among 
us  was  a  continued  triumph.  Every  day's  march  was  an 
ovation.  The  United  States  became  for  months  one  great 
festive  hall.  People  forgot  the  usual  occupations  of  life, 
and  crowded  to  behold  the  benefactor  of  mankind. 

The  old  iron-hearted,  gray-haired  veterans  of  the  Revo- 
lution, thronged  around  him  to  touch  his  hand,  to  behold 
his  face,  and  to  call  down  heaven's  benison  upon  their  old 
companion  in  arms.  Lisping  infancy  and  garrulous  old 
age,  beauty,  talents,  wealth,  and  power;  all,  for  a  while, 
forsook  their  usual  pursuits,  and  united  to  pay  a  willing 
tribute  of  gratitude  and  welcome  to  the  Nation's  Guest. 
The  name  of  La  Fayette  was  upon  every  lip,  and  wherever 
was  his  name,  there  too  was  an  invocation  for  blessings  on 
his  head. 

What  were  the  triumphs  of  the  classic  ages,  compared 
with  this  unbought  love  and  homage  of  a  mighty  people? 
Take  them  in  Rome's  best  days,  when  the  invincible  gene- 
rals of  the  eternal  city  returned  from  their  foreign  conquests, 
with  captive  kings  bound  to  their  chariot  wheels,  and  the 
spoils  of  nations  in  their  train,  followed  by  the  stern  and 
bearded  warriors,  and  surrounded  by  the  interminable  mul- 
titudes of  the  seven -hilled  city,  shouting  a  fierce  welcome 


172  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

home;  what  was  such  a  triumph  compared  with  that  of  La 
Fayette? 

Not  a  single  city,  but  a  whole  nation,  rising  as  one  man, 
and  greeting  him  with  an  affectionate  embrace-i  One  single 
day  of  such  spontaneous  homage,  were  worth  whole  years 
of  courtly  adulation.  One  hour  might  well  reward  a  man 
for  a  whole  life  of  danger  and  of  toil.  Then,  too,  the  joy 
with  which  he  must  have  viewed  the  prosperity  of  the  peo- 
ple for  whom  he  had  so  deeply  struggled!  To  behold  the 
nation  which  he  had  left  a  little  child,  now  grown  up  in 
the  full  proportions  of  lusty  manhood! 

To  see  the  tender  sapling  which  he  had  left,  with  hardly 
shade  enough  to  cover  its  own  roots,  now  waxing  into  the 
sturdy  and  unwedgeable  oak,  beneath  whose  grateful  um- 
brage the  oppressed  of  all  nations  find  shelter  and  protec- 
tion !  That  oak  still  grows  on  in  its  majestic  strength,  and 
wider  and  wider  still  extends  its  mighty  branches.  But 
the  hand  that  watered  and  nourished  it,  while  yet  a  tender 
plant,  is  now  cold.  The  heart  that  watched,  with  strong 
affection,  its  early  growth,  has  ceased  to  beat. 

FROM  S.  S.  PRENTISS. 


LXXXVIII— LA  FAYETTE  AND  NAPOLEON. 

WHEN  the  doors  of  the  Austrian  dungeon  were  at  length 
thrown  open,  La  Fayette  returned  to  France.  Great 
changes,  however,  had  taken  place  in  his  absence.  The 
flood  of  the  revolution  had  subsided.  The  tempest  of 
popular  commotion  had  blown  over,  leaving  many  and 
fearful  evidences  of  its  terrible  fury;  and  the  star  of  the 
child  of  destiny  had  now  become  lord  of  the  ascendant. 

Small  was  the  sympathy  between  the  selfish  and  ambitious 
Napoleon,  and  La  Fayette,  the  patriot  and  philanthropist. 
They  could  no  more  mingle  than  the  pure  lights  of  heaven 
and  the  unholy  fires  of  hell.  La  Fayette  refused  with  scorn 
the  dignities  proffered  by  the  First  Consul,  and,  filled  with 
virtuous  indignation  at  his  country's  fate,  retired  from  the 
capital,  and,  devoting  himself  awhile  to  the  pursuits  of 
private  life,  awaited  the  return  of  better  times. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  173 

And  here  we  pause  to  compare  these  two  wonderful  men, 
belonging  to  the  same  age  and  to  the  same  nation:  Napo- 
leon and  La  Fayette.  Their  names  excite  no  kindred  emo- 
tions :  their  fates,  no  kindred  sympathy.  Napoleon,  the 
child  of  destiny,  the  thunderbolt  of  war,  the  victor  in  a 
hundred  battles,  the  dispenser  of  thrones  and  dominions; 
he,  who  scaled  the  Alps  and  reclined  beneath  the  pyramids, 
whose  word  was  fate,  and  whose  wish  was  law!  La  Fayette, 
the  volunteer  of  freedom,  the  advocate  of  human  rights,  the 
defender  of  civil  liberty,  the  patriot,  the  philanthropist,  the 
beloved  of  the  good  and  the  free ! 

Napoleon,  the  vanquished  warrior  ignobly  flying  from 
the  field  of  Waterloo,  the  wild  beast,  ravaging  all  Europe 
in  his  wrath,  hunted  down  by  the  banded  and  affrighted 
natives,  and  caged  far  away  upon  the  ocean-girded  rock! 
La  Fayette,  a  watch-word  by  which  men  excite  each  other 
to  deeds  of  worth  and  noble  daring;  whose  home  has  become 
the  Mecca  of  freedom,  toward  which  the  pilgrims  of  liberty 
turn  their  eyes  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe ! 

Napoleon  was  the  red  and  fiery  comet,  shooting  wildly 
through  the  realms  of  space,  and  scattering  terror  and  pes- 
tilence among  the  nations.  La  Fayette  was  the  pure  and 
brilliant  planet,  beneath  whose  grateful  beams  the  mariner 
directs  his  bark,  and  the  shepherd  tends  his  flocks.  Napo- 
leon died,  and  a  few  old  warriors,  the  scattered  relics  of 
Marengo  and  of  Austerlitz,  bewailed  their  chief.  La  Fayette 
is  dead,  and  the  tears  of  a  civilized  world  attest  how  deep 
is  the  mourning  for  his  fate.  FROM  S.  S.  PRENTISS. 


LXXXIX.— WINTER  AND  DEATH. 

DREAD  Winter  spreads  his  latest  glooms, 
And  reigns  tremendous  o'er  the  conquered  year. 
How  dead  the  vegetable  kingdom  lies ! 
How  dumb  the  tuneful !  horror  wide  extends 
His  desolate  domain. 

Behold,  fond  man! 
See  here  thy  pictured  life!     Pass  some  few  years, 


174  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Thy  flowering  spring,  thy  summer's  ardent  strength, 

Thy  sober  autumn  fading  into  age, 

And  pale  concluding  winter  comes  at  last, 

And  shuts  the  scene. 

Ah!  whither  now  are  fled 

Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  those  unsolid  hopes 
Of  happiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame  ? 
Those  restless  cares  ?  those  busy,  bustling  days  ? 
Those  gay-spent,  festive  nights  ?  those  veering  thoughts, 
Lost  between  good  and  ill,  that  shared  thy  life  ? 

All  are  now  vanished?    Virtue  sole  survives, 
Immortal,  never-failing  friend  of  man, 
His  guide  to  happiness  on  high.     And  see! 
'Tis  come,  the  glorious  morn !  the  second  birth 
Of  heaven  and  earth !  awakening  nature  hears 
The  new-creating  word,  and  starts  to  life, 
In  every  hightened  form,  from  pain  and  death 
Forever  free. 

The  great  eternal  scheme, 
Involving  all,  and  in  a  perfect  whole 
Uniting,  as  the  prospect  wider  spreads, 
To  Reason's  eye  refined,  clears  up  apace. 
Ye  vainly  wise !  ye  blind  presumptuous !  now, 
Confounded  in  the  dust,  adore  that  Power 
And  Wisdom  oft  arraigned. 

See  now  the  cause 

Why  unassuming  worth  in  secret  lived, 
And  died  neglected:  why  the  good  man's  share 
In  life  was  gall  and  bitterness  of  soul : 
Why  the  lone  widow  and  her  orphans  pined 
In  starving  solitude ;  while  Luxury, 
In  palaces,  lay  straining  her  low  thought 
To  form  unreal  wants:  why  heaven-born  truth, 
And  moderation  fair,  wore  tho  red  marks 
Of  superstition's  scourge:  why  licensed  pain, 
That  cruel  spoiler,  that  embosomed  foe, 
Embittered  all  our  bliss. 

Ye  good,  distressed! 

Ye  noble  few!  who  here  unbending  stand 
Beneath  life's  pressure,  yet  bear  up  awhile, 
And  what  your  bounded  view,  which  only  saw 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  175 

A  little  part,  deemed  evil,  is  no  more. 

The  storms  of  wintry  time  will  quickly  pass, 

And  one  unbounded  spring  encircle  all. 

FROM  THOMSON. 


XC.— RUDIGER'S  LAST  BANQUET. 

O'ER  a  low  couch  the  setting  sun  had  thrown  its  latest  ray, 
Where,  in  his  last  strong  agony,  a  dying  warrior  lay, 
The  stern  old  Baron  Kudiger,  whose  frame  had  ne'er  been  bent 
By  wasting  pain,  till  time  and  toil  its  iron  strength  had  spent. 

"  They  come  around  me  here,  and  say,  my  days  of  life  are  o'er, 
That  I  shall  mount  my  noble  steed  and  lead  my  band  no  more ; 
They  come,  and,  to  my  beard,  they  dare  to  tell  me  now  that  I, 
Their  own  liege  lord  and  master  born,  that  I — ha !  ha ! — must  die. 

"And  what  is  death?     I've  dared  him  oft,  before  the  Paynim 

spear; 

Think  ye  he  'a  entered  at  my  gate,  has  come  to  seek  me  here  ? 
I've  met  him, — faced  him, — scorned  him, — when   the   fight  was 

raging  hot; 
I'll  try  his  might,  I'll  brave  his  power!  defy,  and  fear  him  not! 

"Ho!  sound  the  tocsin  from  my  tower,  and  fire  the  culverin; 
Bid  each  retainer  arm  with  speed;  call  every  vassal  in. 
Up  with  my  banner  on  the  wall ;  the  banquet  board  prepare ; 
Throw  wide  the  portal  of  my  hall,  and  bring  my  armor  there !" 

A  hundred  hands  were  busy  then.    The  banquet  forth  was  spread, 
And  rung  the  heavy  oaken  floor  with  many  a  martial  tread; 
While  from  the  rich,  dark  tracery,  along  the  vaulted  wall, 
Lights  gleamed  on  harness,  plume,  and  spear,  o  'er  the  proud  old 
Gothic  hall. 

Fast  hurrying  through  the  outer  gate,  the  mailed  retainers  poured, 
On  through  the  portal's  frowning  arch,  and  thronged  around  the 

board ; 

While  at  its  head,  within  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair  of  state, 
Armed  cap-a-pie,  stern  Rudiger,  with  girded  falchion,  sate. 

"Fill  every  beaker  up,  my  men!     Pour  forth  the  cheering  wine! 
There's  life  and  strength  in  every  drop;  thanksgiving  to  the  vine! 
Are  ye  all  there,  my  vassals  true?  mine  eyes  are  waxing  dim: 
Fill  round,  my  tried  and  fearless  ones,  each  goblet  to  the  brim ! 


176  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

"Ye 're  there,  but  yet  I  see  you  not!      Draw  forth  each  trusty 

sword, 

And  let  me  hear  your  faithful  steel  clash  once  around  my  board! 
I  hear  it  faintly;   louder  yet!     What  clogs  my  heavy  breath? 
Up,  all!  and  shout  for  Rudiger,  'Defiance  unto  death!'" 

Bowl  rang  to  bowl,  steel  clanged  to  steel,  and  rose  a  deafening  cry, 
That  made  the  torches  flare -around,  and  shook  the  flags  on  high: 
uHo!  cravens!  do  ye  fear  him?  Slaves!  traitors!  have  ye  flown? 
Ho !  cowards,  have  ye  left  me  to  meet  him  here  alone  ? 

"But  I  defy  him!  let  him  come!"     Down  rang  the  massy  oup, 
While  from  its  sheath  the  ready  blade  came  flashing  half-way  up; 
And,  with  the  black  and  heavy  plumes  scarce  trembling  on  his 

head, 
There,  in  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair,  old  Rudiger  sat — dead ! 


Xd.— JOHN  DAY. 

JOHN  DAY,  he  was  the  biggest  man, 

Of  all  the  coachman  kind; 
With  back  too  broad  to  be  conceived 

By  any  narrow  rnind. 

TKe  very  horses  knew  his  weight, 

When  he  was  in  the  rear, 
And  wished  his  box  a  Christmas-box, 

To  come  but  once  a  year. 

The  bar-maid  of  "The  Crown"  he  loved, 
From  whom  he  never  ranged; 

For,  though  he  changed  his  horses  there. 
His  love  he  never  changed. 

He  thought  her  fairest  of  all  fares, 

So  fondly  love  prefers; 
And  often,  twelve  outsides,  among, 

No  outside  deemed  like  hers. 

One  day,  as  she  was  sitting  down 

Beside  the  porter  pump, 
He  came  and  knelt,  with  all  his  fat, 

And  made  an  offer  plump. 

Said  she,  "my  taste  will  never  learn 
To  like  so  huge  a  man; 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  .       177 

So  I  must  beg  you  will  come  here, 
As  little  as  you  can." 

But  still  he  stoutly  urged  his  suit, 

With  vows,  and  sighs,  and  tears, 
Yet  could  not  pierce  her  heart,  although 

He  drove  the  "Dart"  for  years. 

In  vain  he  wooed,  in  vain  he  sued; 

The  maid  was  cold  and  proud, 
And  sent  him  off  to  Coventry, 

While  on  the  way  to  Stroud. 

He  fretted  all  the  way  to  Stroud, 

And  thence  all  back  to  town; 
The  course  of  love  was  never  smooth, 

So  his  went  up  and  down. 

At  last,  her  coldness  made  him  pine 

To  merely  bones  and  skin; 
But  still  he  loved  like  one  resolved 

To  love  through  thick  and  thin. 

u  O,  Mary !  view  my  wasted  back, 

And  see  my  dwindled  calf! 
Though  I  have  never  had  a  wife, 

I've  lost  my  better  half!" 

Alas!  in  vain  he  still  assailed, 

Her  heart  withstood  the  dint; 
Though  he  had  carried  sixteen  stone, 

He  could  not  move  a  flint ! 

Worn  out,  at  last  he  made  a  vow. 

To  break  his  being's  link, 
For  he  was  so  reduced  in  size, 

At  nothing  he  could  shrink. 

Now,  some  will  talk  in  water's  praise, 

And  waste  a  deal  of  breath; 
But  John,  though  he  drank  nothing  else, 

He  drank  himself  to  death. 

Some  say  his  spirit  haunts  the  Crown; 

But  that  is  only  talk; 
For,  after  riding  all  his  life, 

His  ghost  objects  to  walk. 

FROM  HOOD. 


178  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 


XCII— THE  WATCHMEN.— SCENE  I. 

CHARACTERS. — Dogberry  and  Verges,  ignorant  justices  ;  and  two  watch- 
men. 

Dogberry.     ARE  you  good  men  and  true? 

Verges.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Dogb.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for  them, 
if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them,  being  chosen 
for  the  prince's  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbor  Dog- 
berry. 

Dogb.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless  man  to 
be  constable? 

1st  Watch.     George  Seacoal ;  for  he  can  write  and  read. 

Dogb.  Come  hither,  neighbor  Seacoal.  Heaven  hath 
blessed  you  with  a  good  name.  To  be  a  well-favored 
man  is  the  gift  of  fortune  ;  but  to  write  and  read  comes 
by  nature. 

2nd  Watch.     Both  which,  master  constable, 

Dogb.  You  have.  I  knew  it  would  be  your  answer. 
Well,  for  your  favor,  sir,  why,  give  Heaven  thanks,  and 
make  no  boast  of  it ;  and  for  your  writing  and  reading,  let 
that  appear  when  there  is  no  need  of  such  vanity.  Ypu 
are  thought  here  to  be  the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for 
the  constable  of  the  watch,  therefore  bear  you  the  lantern. 
This  is  your  charge.  You  shall  comprehend  all  vagrom 
men.  You  are  to  bid  any  man  stand,  in  the  prince's 
name. 

2nd  Watch.     How  if  he  will  not  stand  ? 

Dogb.  Why,  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him  go; 
and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch  together,  and  thank 
Heaven  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he  is 
none  of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Dogb.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  but  the 
prince's  subjects.  You  shall  also  make  no  noise  in  the 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  179 

streets;  for,  for  the  watch  to  babble  and  talk,  is  most  tol- 
erable and  not  to  be  endured. 

2nd  Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk.  We  know 
what  belongs  to  a  watch. 

Dogb.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most  quiet 
watchman;  for  I  can  not  see  how  sleeping  should  offend  : 
only  have  a  care  that  your  bills  be  not  stolen.  Well,  you 
are  to  call  at  all  the  ale-houses,  and  bid  those  that  are 
drunk  get  them  to  bed. 

2nd  Watch.     How  if  they  will  not? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are  sober. 
If  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer,  you  may  say 
they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for. 

2nd  Watch.     Well,  sir. 

Dogb.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him,  by 
virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  :  and  for  such  kind 
of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with  them,  why,  the 
more  is  for  your  honesty. 

2nd  Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we  not 
lay  hands  on  him? 

Dogb.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may ;  but,  I  think, 
they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled.  The  most  peaceable 
way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is,  to  let  him  show 
himself  what  he  is,  and  steal  out  of  your  company. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will ;  much 
more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

2nd  Watch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will  not 
hear  us? 

Dogb.  Why,  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child 
wake  her  with  crying ;  for  the  ewe  that  will  not  hear  her 
lamb  when  it  baas,  will  never  answer  a  calf  when  he  bleats. 
Verg.  'T  is  very  true. 

Dogb.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  constable, 
are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person.  If  you  meet  the 
prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 


180  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Very.     Nay,  that,  I  think,  he  can  not. 

Dogb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man  that 
knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  :  marry,  not  without 
the  prince  be  willing :  for,  indeed,  the  watch  ought  to  of- 
fend no  man  ;  and  it  is  an  offense  to  stay  a  man  against 
his  will. 

Very.     I  think  it  be  so. 

Dogb.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Well,  masters,  good  night.  If 
there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  me  up.  Keep 
your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own,  and  good  night. 
Come,  neighbor. 

2nd  Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge.  Let 
us  go  sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two,  and  then 
all  to  bed. 

Dogb.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbors.  I  pray  you, 
watch  about  seignior  Leonato's  door  ;  for  the  wedding  being 
there  to-morrow,  there  is  a  great  coil  to-night.  Adieu,  be 
vigilant,  I  beseech  you.  (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEAKE. 


XCIII— THE  WATCHMEN.— SCENE  II. 

CHARACTERS. — Dogberry  and  Verges,  justices;  the  Clerk;  the  Watch- 
men ;  and  Conrade  and  Borachio,  culprits. 

Dogb.     Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  ? 

Verg.     0,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  clerk. 

Clerk.    Which  be  the  malefactors? 

Dogb.    Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,  that's  certain;  we  have  the  exhibition  to 
examine. 

Clerk.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be  ex- 
amined? Let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me.  What  is 
your  name,  friend? 

Bora.     Borachio. 

Dogb.     Pray  write  down,  Borachio.    Yours,  sirrah? 

Con.       I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  Conrade. 

Dogb.  Write  down,  master  gentleman  Conrade.  Mas- 
ters, it  is  proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  181 

false  knaves  ;  and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  shortly. 
How  answer  you  for  yourselves  ? 

Con.     Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dogb.  A  marvelous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you.  But  I 
will  go  about  with  him.  Come  you  hither,  sirrah ;  a  word 
in  your  ear,  sir.  I  say  to  you,  it  is  thought  you  are  false 
knaves. 

Bora.     Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  are  none. 

Dogb.  Well,  stand  aside.  They  are  both  in  a  tale. 
Have  you  writ  down,  that  they  are  none  ? 

Clerk.  Master  justice,  you  go  not  the  way  to  examine  ; 
you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are  their  accusers. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  best  way.  Let  the  watch 
come  forth.  Masters,  I  charge  you,  in  the  prince's  name, 
accuse  these  men. 

1st  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the 
prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dogb.  Write  down,  prince  John  a  villain.  Why  this  is 
flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother,  villain. 

Bora.     Master  justice — 

Dogb.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace.  I  do  not  like  thy  look, 
I  promise  thee. 

Clerk.     What  heard  you  him  say  else? 

2nd  Watch.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thousand 
ducats  of  Don  John,  for  accusing  the  lady  Hero  wrong- 
fully. 

Dogb.    Flat  burglary,  as  ever  was  committed. 

Verg.     Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  it  is. 

Clerk.    What  else,  fellow  ? 

1st  Watch.  And  that  count  Claudio  did  mean,  upon  his 
words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole  assembly. 

Dogb.  O  villain  !  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into  everlast- 
ing redemption  for  this. 

Clerk.     What  else? 

2nd  Watch.     This  is  all. 

Clerk.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can  deny. 
Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen  away.  Hero 
was  in  this  manner  accused,  in  this  very  manner  refused, 
and  upon  the  grief  of  this,  suddenly  died.  Master  justice, 


182  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

let  these  men  be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's.     I  will 
go  before  and  show  him  their  examination.     (Exit.'} 

Dogl).     Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

Very.     Let  them  be  in  band. 

Con.      Off,  coxcomb  ! 

Dogb.  Where's  the  clerk?  let  him  write  down,  the 
prince's  officer,  coxcomb.  Come,  bind  them.  Thou 
naughty  varlet ! 

Con.     Away  !  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Dogb.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place  ?  Dost  thou  not 
suspect  my  years.  0  that  he  were  here  to  write  me  down — 
an  ass!  but,  masters,  remember,  that  I  am  an  ass;  though 
it  be  not  written  down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass. 
No,  thou  villain,  thou  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved 
upon  thee  by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fellow ;  and, 
which  is  more,  an  officer ;  and,  which  is  more,  a  house- 
holder; and,  which  is  more,  as  pretty  a  piece  of  flesh  as 
any  in  the  land ;  and  one  that  knows  the  law,  go  to ;  and 
a  rich  fellow  enough,  go  to ;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had 
losses ;  and  one  that  hath  two  gowns,  and  every  thing 
handsome  about  him.  Bring  him  away.  O,  that  I  had 
been  writ  down — an  ass  !  (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEAKE. 


XCIV.— LIBERTY  OF  THE  PRESS. 

WHAT,  then,  remains?  The  liberty  of  the  Press,  only: 
that  sacred  palladium,  which  no  influence,  no  power,  no 
minister,  no  government,  which  nothing  but  the  depravity, 
or  folly,  or  corruption  of  a  jury,  can  ever  destroy.  And 
what  calamities  are  the  people  saved  from,  by  having  public 
communication  left  open  to  them?  I  will  tell  you,  gentle- 
men, what  they  are  saved  from,  and  what  the  government 
is  saved  from.  I  will  tell  you,  also,  to  what  both  are 
exposed,  by  shutting  up  that  communication. 

In  one  case,  sedition  speaks  aloud,  and  walks  abroad. 
The  demagogue  goes  forth ;  the  public  eye  is  upon  him ; 
he  frets  his  busy  hour  upon  the  stage.  But  soon  either 
weariness,  or  bribe,  or  punishment,  or  disappointment,  bears 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  183 

him  down,  or  drives  him  off,  and  he  appears  no  more.  In 
the  other  case,  how  does  the  work  of  sedition  go  forward? 
Night  after  night,  the  muffled  rebel  steals  forth  in  the  dark, 
and  casts  another  and  another  brand  upon  the  pile,  to  which, 
when  the  hour  of  fatal  maturity  shall  arrive  he  will  apply 
the  torch. 

In  that  awful  moment  of  a  nation's  travail,  of  the  last 
gasp  of  tyranny,  and  the  first  breath  of  freedom,  how  preg- 
nant is  the  example!  The  press  extinguished  and  the 
people  enslaved!  As  the  advocate  of  society,  therefore,  of 
peace,  of  domestic  liberty,  and  the  lasting  union  of  the  two 
countries,  I  conjure  you  to  guard  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
that  great  sentinel  of  the  State,  that  grand  detector  of 
public  imposture!  Guard  it,  because,  when  it  sinks,  there 
sinks  with  it,  in  one  common  grave,  the  liberty  of  the 
country.  FROM  CURRAN. 


XCV.— CLEAR  THE  WAY. 

MEN  of  thought,  be  up  and  stirring, 

Night  and  day; 
Sow  the  seed,  withdraw  the  curtain, 

Clear  the  way ! 
Men  of  action,  aid  and  cheer  them 

As  you  may. 

There  is  a  fount  about  to  stream, 
There  is  a  light  about  to  beam, 
There  is  a  warmth  about  to  glow, 
There  is  a  flower  about  to  blow, 
There  is  a  midnight  darkness 
Changing  into  day; 
Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action, 
Clear  the  way ! 

Once  the  welcome  light  has  broken, 

Who  shall  say 
What  the  unimagined  glories 

Of  the  day? 
What  the  evil  that  shall  perish 

In  its  ray? 
Aid  the  dawning,  tongue  and  pen; 


184  tfCGtJFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER, 


Aid  it,  hopes  of  honest  men  ; 
Aid  it,  paper;  aid  it,  type; 
Aid  it,  for  the  hour  is  ripe, 
And  our  earnest  must  not  slacken 

Into  play. 
Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way! 

Lo!  a  cloud's  abeut  to  vanish 
From  the  day; 

And  a  brazen  wro^ig  to  crumble 
Into  clay  ! 

Lo!  the  right's  about  to  conquer; 
Clear  the  way! 

With  the  right  shall  many  more 
Enter  smiling  at  the  door; 
With  the  giant  wrong  shall  fall 
Many  others  great  and  small, 
That  for  ages  long  have  held  us 

For  their  prey. 

Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action, 
Clear  the  way! 


XCVI— PRESS  ON. 

PRESS  on!     Surmount  the  rocky  steeps, 

Climb  boldly  o'er  the  torrent's  arch: 
He  fails  alone  who  feebly  creeps, 

He  wins  who  dares  the  hero's  march. 
Be  thou  a  hero!  let  thy  might 

Tramp  on  eternal  snows  its  way, 
And,  through  the  ebon  walls  of  night, 

Hew  down  a  passage -unto  day. 

Press  on !     If  once  and  twice  thy  feet 

Slip  back  and  stumble,  harder  try; 
From  him  who  never  dreads  to  meet 

Danger  and  death,  they're  sure  to  fly. 
To  coward  ranks  the  bullet  speeds, 

While  on  their  breasts  who  never  quail, 
Gleams,  guardian  of  chivalric  deeds, 

Bright  courage,  like  a  coat  of  mail. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  185 

Press  on!     If  Fortune  play  thee  false 

To-day,  to-morrow  she'll  be  true; 
Whom  now  she  sinks,  she  now  exalts, 

Taking  old  gifts  and  granting  new. 
The  wisdom  of  the  present  hour 

Makes  up  for  follies,  past  and  gone: 
To  weakness  strength  succeeds,  and  power 

From  frailty  springs.     Press  on!  press  on! 

Therefore,  press  on!  and  reach  the  goal 

And  gain  the  prize,  and  wear  the  crown: 
Faint  not!  for  to  the  steadfast  soul 

Come  wealth,  and  honor,  and  renown. 
To  thine  own  self  be  true,  and  keep 

Thy  mind  from  sloth,  thy  heart  from  soil; 
Press  on !  and  thou  shalt  surely  reap 

A  heavenly  harvest  for  thy  toil ! 


XCVIL— WHERE  SHOULD  THE  SCHOLAR  LIVE  ? 

WHERE  should  the  scholar  live?  In  solitude  or  society? 
In  the  green  stillness  of  the  country,  where  he  can  hear  the 
heart  of  nature  beat,  or  in  the  dark,  gray  city,  where  he 
can  hear  and  feel  the  throbbing  heart  of  man?  I  will  make 
answer  for  him,  and  say,  in  the  dark,  gray  city.  Oh,  they 
do  greatly  err,  who  think,  that  the  stars  are  all  the  poetry 
which  cities  have;  and  therefore,  that  the  poet's  only 
dwelling  should  be  in  silvan  solitudes,  under  the  green 
roof  of  trees. 

Beautiful,  no  doubt,  are  all  the  forms  of  nature,  when 
transfigured  by  the  miraculous  power  of  poetry;  hamlets 
and  harvest  fields,  and  nut-brown  waters,  flowing  ever  under 
the  forest,  vast  and  shadowy,  with  all  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  rural  life.  But  after  all,  what  are  these  but  the  deco- 
rations and  painted  scenery  in  the  great  theater  of  human 
life?  What  are  they  but  the  coarse  materials  of  the  poet's 
song? 

Glorious,  indeed,  is   the   world   of  God   around   us,  but 

more  glorious  the  world  of  God  within  us.     There  lies  the 

land  of  song.     There  lies  the  poet's  native  land.     The  river 

of  life,  that  flows  through  streets  tumultuous,  bearing  along 

NEW  EC.  53. — 1G 


186  MCGTJFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

so  many  gallant  hearts,  so  many  wrecks  of  humanity;  the 
many  homes  and  households,  each  a  little  world  in  itself, 
revolving  round  its  fireside,  as  a  central  sun;  all  forms  of 
human  joy  and  suffering,  brought  into  that  narrow  compass; 
and  to  be  in  this  and  be  a  part  of  this;  acting,  thinking, 
rejoicing,  sorrowing,  with  his  fellow-men;  such,  such  should 
be  the  poet's  life. 

If  he  would  describe  the  world,  he  should  live  in  the  world. 
The  mind  of  the  scholar,  also,  if  you  would  have  it  large 
and  liberal,  should  come  in  contact  with  other  minds.  It 
is  better  that  his  armor  should  be  somewhat  bruised  even 
by  rude  encounters,  than  hang  forever  rusting  on  the  wall. 
Nor  will  his  themes  be  few  or  trivial,  because  apparently 
shut  in  between  the  walls  of  houses,  and  having  merely  the 
decorations  of  street  scenery. 

A  ruined  character  is  as  picturesque  as  a  ruined  castle. 
There  are  dark  abysses  and  yawning  gulfs  in  the  human 
heart,  which  can  be  rendered  passable  only  by  bridging 
them  over  with  iron  nerves  and  sinews,  as  Challey  bridged 
the  Savine  in  Switzerland,  and  Telford  the  sea  between 
Anglesea  and  England,  with  chain  bridges.  These  are  the 
great  themes  of  human  thought;  not  green  grass,  and 
flowers,  and  moonshine.  Besides,  the  mere  external  forms 
of  nature  we  make  our  own  and  carry  with  us  into  the  city, 
by  the  power  of  memory.  FROM  LONGFELLOW. 


XCVIII.— THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

WALK  with  the  Beautiful  and  with  the  Grand, 
Let  nothing  on  the  earth  thy  feet  deter; 

Sorrow  may  lead  thee  weeping  by  the  hand, 
But  give  not  all  thy  bosom  thoughts  to  her; 

Walk  with  the  Beautiful. 

I  hear  thee  say,  "The  Beautiful!  what  is  it?" 
O,  thou  art  darkly  ignorant!     Be  sure 

'Tis  no  long  weary  road  its  form  to  visit, 

For  thou  canst  make  it  smile  beside  thy  door; 
Then  love  the  Beautiful. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  187 

Ay,  love  it;  'tis  a  sister  that  will  bless, 

And  teach  thee  patience  when  the  heart  is  lonely; 

The  angels  love  it,  for  they  wear  its  dress, 
And  thou  art  made  a  little  lower  only; 

Then  love  the  Beautiful. 

Some  boast  its  presence  in  a  Grecian  face; 

Some,  in  a  favorite  warbler  of  the  skies; 
But  be  not  fooled!  whate'er  thine  eye  may  trace, 

Seeking  the  Beautiful,  it  will  arise; 

Then  seek  it  everywhere. 

Thy  bosom  is  its  mint ;  \he  workmen  are 

Thy  thoughts,  and  they  must  coin  for  thee:  believing, 
The  Beautiful  exists  in  every  star, 

Thou  mak'st  it  so;  and  art  thyself  deceiving, 
If  otherwise  thy  faith. 

Dost  thou  see  Beauty  in  the  violet's  cup? 

I'll  teach  thee  miracles!     Walk  on  this  heath, 
And  say  to  the  neglected  flower,  "Look  up, 

And  be  thou  beautiful !"     If  thou  hast  faith, 
It  will  obey  thy  word. 

One  thing  I  warn  thee.     Bow  no  knee  to  gold. 

Less  innocent  it  makes  the  guileless  tongue: 
It  turns  the  feelings  prematurely  old: 

And  they  who  keep  their  best  affections  young 
Best  love  the  Beautiful. 


XCIX.— INVECTIVE  AGAINST  MR.  FLOOD. 

HENRY  GRATTAN  was  a  distinguished  Irish  barrister.  He  had 
been  attacked  in  Parliament  with  great  asperity  by  Mr.  Flood,  and 
replied  as  follows.  It  is  an  admirable  specimen  of  invective,  though, 
in  its  spirit,  by  no  means  worthy  of  imitation. 

IT  is  not  the  slander  of  an  evil  tongue  that  can  defame 
me.  I  maintain  my  reputation  in  public  and  in  private 
life.  No  man,  who  has  not  a  bad  character,  can  ever  say 
that  I  deceived.  No  country  can  call  me  a  cheat.  But  I 
will  suppose  such  a  public  character.  I  will  suppose  such 
a  man  to  have  existence.  I  will  begin  with  his  character 
in  his  political  cradle,  and  I  will  follow  him  to  the  last 


188  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

stage  of  political  dissolution.  I  will  suppose  him,  in  the 
first  stage  of  his  life,  to  have  been  intemperate;  in  the 
second,  to  have  been  corrupt;  and  in  the  last,  seditious; 
that,  after  an  envenomed  attack  on  government,  he  took 
office,  and  became  its  supporter. 

With  regard  to  the  liberties  of  America,  which  were 
inseparable  from  ours,  I  will  suppose  this  gentleman  to  have 
been  an  enemy,  decided  and  unreserved;  that  he  voted 
against  her  liberty,  and  voted,  moreover,  for  an  address  to 
send  four  thousand  Irish  troops  to  cut  the  throats  of  the 
Americans;  that  he  called  these  butchers  "armed  negotia- 
tors," and  stood  with  a  metaphor  in  his  mouth  and  a  bribe 
in  his  pocket,  a  champion  against  the  rights  of  America,  of 
America,  the  only  hope  of  Ireland,  the  only  refuge  of  the 
liberties  of  mankind.  Thus  defective  in  every  relationship, 
whether  to  constitution,  commerce,  or  toleration,  I  will  sup- 
pose this  man  to  have  added  much  private  improbity  to 
public  crimes;  that  his  probity  was  like  his  patriotism,  and 
his  honor  on  a  level  with  his  oath.  He  loves  to  deliver 
panegyrics  on  himself.  I  will  interrupt  him,  and  say: 

Sir,  you  are  much  mistaken  if  you  think  that  your  talents 
have  been  as  great  as  your  life  has  been  reprehensible. 
You  began  your  parliamentary  career  with  an  acrimony 
and  personality  which  could  have  been  justified  only  by  a 
supposition  of  virtue.  After  a  rank  and  clamorous  oppo- 
sition, you  became,  on  a  sudden,  silent.  You  were  silent 
for  seven  years.  You  were  silent  on  the  greatest  questions, 
and  you  were  silent  for  money! 

You  supported  the  unparalleled  profusion  and  jobbing 
of  Lord  Harcourt's  scandalous  ministry.  You,  sir,  who 
manufacture  stage  thunder  against  Mr.  Eden  for  his  anti- 
American  principles ;  you,  sir,  whom  it  pleases  to  chant  a 
hymn  to  the  immortal  Hampden;  you,  sir,  approved  of 
the  tyranny  exercised  against  America.  You,  sir,  voted 
four  thousand  Irish  troops  to  cut  the  throats  of  the  Ameri- 
cans, fighting  for  their  freedom,  fighting  for  the  great  prin- 
ciple, liberty! 

But  you  found  at  last,  that  the  Court  had  bought,  but 
would  not  trust  you.  Mortified  at  the  discovery,  you  try 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  189 

the  sorry  game  of  a  trimmer  in  your  progress  to  the  acts 
of  an  incendiary ;  and  observing,  with  regard  to  prince  and 
people,  the  most  impartial  treachery  and  desertion,  you 
justify  the  suspicion  of  your  sovereign  by  betraying  the 
government,  as  you  had  sold  the  people.  Such  has  been 
your  conduct,  and  at  such  conduct  every  order  of  your 
fellow-subjects  have  a  right  to  exclaim !  The  merchant 
may  say  to  you,  the  constitutionalist  may  say  to  you,  the 
American  may  say  to  you,  and  /,  /  now  say,  and  say  to 
your  beard,  sir,  you  are  not  an  honest  man  I 

FROM  GRATTAN. 


C.— INVECTIVE  AGAINST  MR.  CORRY. 

HAS  the  gentleman  done  ?  Has  he  completely  done  ? 
He  was  unparliamentary  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of 
his  speech.  There  was  scarcely  a  word  that  he  uttered,  that 
was  not  a  violation  of  the  privileges  of  the  House.  But 
I  did  not  call  him  to  order.  Why?  Because  the  limited 
talents  of  some  men  render  it  impossible  for  them  to  be 
severe  without  being  unparliamentary.  But  before  I  sit 
down,  I  shall  show  him  how  to  be  severe  and  parliamentary, 
at  the  same  time. 

On  any  other  occasion,  I  should  think  myself  justi- 
fiable in  treating  with  silent  contempt  any  thing  which 
might  fall  from  that  honorable  member.  But  there  are 
times  when  the  insignificance  of  the  accuser  is  lost  in  the 
magnitude  of  the  accusation.  I  know  the  difficulty  the 
honorable  gentleman  labored  under  when  he  attacked  me, 
conscious  that,  on  a  comparative  view  of  our  characters, 
public  and  private,  there  is  nothing  he  could  say  which 
would  injure  me.  The  public  would  not  believe  the  charge. 
I  despise  the  falsehood. 

The  right  honorable  gentleman  has  called  me  "an  unim- 
peached  traitor."  I  ask,  why  not  "traitor,"  unqualified  by 
any  epithet?  I  will  tell  him.  It  was  because  he  dare  not! 
It  was  the  act  of  a  coward,  who  raises  his  arm  to  strike, 
but  has  not  courage  to  give  the  blow !  I  will  not  call  him 


190  MCGTJFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

villain,  because  it  would  be  unparliamentary,  and  he  is  a 
privy  councilor.  I  will  not  call  him  fool,  because  he  hap- 
pens to  be  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  But  I  say  he  is 
one  who  has  abused  the  privilege  of  Parliament  and  free- 
dom of  debate,  to  the  uttering  of  language,  which,  if 
spoken  out  of  the  House,  I  should  answer  only  with  a 
blow ! 

I  care  not  how  high  his  situation,  how  low  his  character, 
how  contemptible  his  speech.  Whether  a  privy  councilor 
or  a  parasite,  my  answer  would  be  a  blow  !  He  has  charged 
me  with  being  connected  with  the  rebels.  The  charge  is 
utterly,  totally,  and  meanly  false  !  Does  the  honorable  gen- 
tleman rely  on  the  report  of  the  House  of  Lords  for  the 
foundation  of  his  assertion  ?  If  he  does,  I  can  prove  to 
the  committee  there  was  a  physical  impossibility  of  that 
report's  being  true.  But  I  scorn  to  answer  any  man  for 
my  conduct,  whether  he  be  a  political  coxcomb,  or  whether 
he  brought  himself  into  power  by  a  false  glare  of  courage 
or  not.  FKOM  GEATTAN. 


CL— DENUNCIATION  OF  VERRES. 

QOESTORSHIP  ;  the  office  of  a  Roman  treasurer. 
PRETOR;  a  Roman  magistrate. 

CONSCRIPT  FATHERS,  a  man  is  on  trial  before  you  who 
is  rich,  and  who  hopes  his  riches  will  compass  his  acquit- 
tal ;  but  whose  life  and  actions  are  his  sufficient  condem- 
nation in  the  eyes  of  all  candid  men.  I  speak  of  Cams 
Verres.  Passing  over  the  shameful  irregularities  of  his 
youth,  what  does  the  questorship  of  Verres  exhibit  but 
one  continued  scene  of  villanies  ?  The  public  treasure 
squandered,  a  Consul  stripped  and  betrayed,  an  army  de- 
serted and  reduced  to  want,  a  province  robbed,  the  civil 
and  religious  rights  of  a  people  trampled  on! 

But  his  pretorship  in  Sicily  has  crowned  his  career  of 
wickedness,  and  completed  the  lasting  monument  of  his 
infamy.  His  decisions  have  violated  all  law,  all  precedent, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  191 

all  right.  His  extortions  from  the  industrious  poor,  have 
been  beyond  computation.  Our  most  faithful  allies  have 
been  treated  as  enemies.  Roman  citizens  have,  like  slaves, 
been  put  to  death  with  tortures.  Men  the  most  worthy 
have  been  condemned  and  banished  without  a  hearing, 
while  the  most  atrocious  criminals  have,  with  money,  pur- 
chased exemption  from  the  punishment  due  to  their  guilt. 

I  ask  now,  Verres,  what  have  you  to  advance  against 
these  charges?  Art  thou  not  the  tyrant  pretor,  who,  at 
no  greater  distance  than  Sicily,  within  sight  of  the  Italian 
coast,  dared  to  put  to  an  infamous  death,  on  the  cross,  that 
ill-fated  and  innocent  citizen,  Publius  Gavius  Cosanus  ? 
And  what  was  his  offense?  He  had  declared  his  intention 
of  appealing  to  the  justice  of  his  country  against  your 
brutal  persecutions  ! 

For  this,  when  about  to  embark  for  home,  he  was  seized, 
brought  before  you,  charged  with  being  a  spy,  scourged 
and  tortured.  In  vain  did  he  exclaim  :  "  I  am  a  Roman 
citizen  !  I  have  served  under  Lucius  Pretius,  who  is  now 
at  Panormus,  and  who  will  attest  my  innocence  !"  Deaf 
to  all  remonstrances,  remorseless,  thirsting  for  innocent 
blood,  you  ordered  the  savage  punishment  to  be  inflicted ! 
While  the  sacred  words,  "I  am  a  Roman  citizen,"  were  on 
his  lips ;  words  which,  in  the  remotest  regions,  are  a  pass- 
port to  protection  ;  you  ordered  him  to  death,  to  a  death 
upon  the  cross ! 

O  liberty!  0  sound  once  delightful  to  every  Roman 
ear !  0  sacred  privilege  of  Roman  citizenship !  once 
sacred,  now  trampled  on !  Is  it  come  to  this  ?  Shall  an 
inferior  magistrate,  a  governor,  who  holds  his  whole  power 
of  the  Roman  people,  in  a  Roman  province,  within  sight 
of  Italy,  bind,  scourge,  torture,  and  put  to  an  infamous 
death,  a  Roman  citizen?  Shall  neither  the  cries  of  inno- 
cence expiring  in  agony,  the  tears  of  pitying  spectators,  the 
majesty  of  the  Roman  commonwealth,  nor  the  fear  of  the 
justice  of  his  country,  restrain  the  merciless  monster,  who, 
in  the  confidence  of  his  riches,  strikes  at  the  very  root  of 
liberty,  and  sets  mankind  at  defiance  ?  And  shall  this 
man  escape  ?  Fathers,  it  must  not  be  !  It  must  not  be, 


192  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

unless  you  would  undermine  the  very  foundations  of  social 
safety,  strangle  justice,  and  call  down  anarchy,  massacre 
and  ruin,  on  the  Commonwealth !  FROM  CICERO. 


CIL— SPARTACUS. 

IT  was  the  custom  of  the  Romans  to  reserve  the  bravest  and  most 
warlike  of  their  captives  in  war,  as  gladiators.  Their  business  was, 
to  amuse  public  assemblies  by  fighting  with  each  other  or  with  wild 
beasts,  reserved  for  the  purpose. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  triumph  in  Capua.  Lentulus,  returning  with 
victorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace,  with  the  sports  of  the 
amphitheater.  The  shouts  of  revelry  had  died  away.  The  roar 
of  the  lion  had  ceased.  The  last  loiterer  had  retired  from  the  ban- 
quet ;  and  the  lights  in  the  palace  of  the  victor  were  extinguished. 

In  the  deep  recess  of  the  amphitheater,  a  band  of  gladiators  were 
assembled.  Their  muscles  were  still  knotted  with  the  agony  of  con- 
flict. The  foam  was  upon  their  lips,  and  the  scowl  of  battle  yet  lin- 
gered upon  their  brows ;  when  Spartacus,  rising  in  their  midst,  thus 
addressed  them. 

YE  call  me  chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief,  who, 
for  twelve  long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena,  every  shape 
of  man  or  beast,  the  broad  empire  of  Rome  could  furnish ; 
and  never  yet  lowered  his  arms.  And  if  there  is  one 
among  you,  who  can  say  that  ever,  in  public  fight,  or  pri- 
vate brawl,  my  actions  did  belie  my  tongue,  let  him  step 
forth  and  do  it!  If  there  be  three,  in  all  your  company, 
dare  face  me,  on  the  bloody  sand,  let  them  COME  ON  ! 

Yet  I  was  not  always  thus?  a  hired  butcher,  a  savage 
chief  of  still  more  s.ayage  men.  My  father  was  a  Thracianf 
who  feared  great  Jupiter,  and  brought  to  the  rural  deities 
his  offerings  of  fruits  and  flowers.  My  ancestors  came 
from  Greece,  and  settled  among  the  vine-clad  rocks  and 
citron  groves  of  Syrasella.  My  early  life  ran  quiet  as  the 
brook,  by  which  I  played.  When,  at  noon,  I  gathered 
my  sheep  beneath  the  shade,  to  play  upon  the  shepherd's 
flute,  I  had  a  friend,  the  son  of  our  neighbor,  to  share  the 
pleasure.  We  led  our  flocks  *to  the  same  pasture,  and 
shared  together  our  rustic  meal. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  193 

One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and  we  were 
all  seated,  beneath  the  myrtle  that  shaded  our  cottage,  my 
grandsire  was  telling  of  Marathon  and  Leuctra,  and  how, 
in  ancient  times,  a  little  band  of  Spartans,  in  a  defile  of  the 
mountains,  withstood  a  whole  army.  I  did  not  know  what 
War  meant  then ;  but  my  cIfeeiT~did  burn,  I  knew  not 
why;  and  I  did  clasp  the  knees  of  the  venerable  man,  till 
my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from  off  my  forehead,  kissed 
my  throbbing  temples,  and  bade  me  go  to  rest,  and  think 
no  more  of  those  old  tales,  and  savage  wars. 

That  very  night,  the  Romans  landed  on  our  shores ;  and 
the  clash  6¥  steel  was  heard  within  our  quiet  vale.  I  saw 
the  breast  that  nourished  me,  trampled  by  the  iron  heel  of 
the  warhorse  :  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father,  flung  amid 
the  blazing  rafters  of  his  dwelling. 

I  killed  a  man,  to-day,  in  the  arena;  and  when  I  broke 
his  helmet  clasps,  behold  !  IT  WAS  MY  FRIEND  !  He  knew 
me, — smiled  faintly, — gasped, — and  died.  It  was  the  same 
sweet  smile,  that  I  had  marked  upon  his  face,  when,  in 
adventurous  boyhood,  we  scaled  some  lofty  cliff,  to  pluck 
the  first  ripe  grapes,  and  bear  them  home,  in  childish  tri- 
umph. I  told  the  pretor  he  was  my  friend,  noble  and 
brave,  and  begged  his  bojiy,  that  I  might  burn  it  upon  the 
funeral  pile,  and  mourn  over  him.  Ay !  on  my  knees, 
among  the  dust  and  blood  of  the  arena,  with  tears,  I  beg- 
ged that  boon.  But  he  drew  back  as  if  I  were  pollution, 
and  sternly  said,  "  Let  the  carrion  rot !  There  are  no 
^iioble  men  but  Romans!" 

0  Home  !  Romel  I  thank  thee  !  thou  hast  been  a  tender 
nurse  to  me.  Ay!  thou  hast  given  to  that  poor,  gentle, 
timid,  shepherd  lad,  who  never  knew  a  harsher  sound  than 
flute  notes,  muscles  of  iron  and  a  heart  of  flint.  Thou 
hast  taught  him  to  drive  the  jiwonL.  through  bones,  and 
ragged '  brass,  and  plaited  mail;  thou  hast  taught  him  to 
gaze  into  the  glaring  eyeballs  of  the  fierce  Numidian  lion, 
even  as  a  smooth-cheeked  boy,  upon  a  laughing  girl.  And 
he  shall  pay  thee  back,  till  the  yellow  Tiber-  is  red  as 
frothing  wine,  and  in  its  deepest  oozing,  life  blood  lies 
curdled. 

NEW  EC.  S.— 17 


194  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

Ye  stand  here,  now,  like  giants,  as  ye  are.  The  strength 
of  brass  is  in  your  toughened  fibers.  Listen  !  Hear  ye 
yon  lion  roaring  in  his  den?  'T  is  three  days  since  he 
tasted  meat;  but  to-morrow,  he  shall  break  his  fast  upon 
your  flesh.  Ye  will  be  a  dainty  meal  for  him.  If  ye  are 
brutes,  then  stand  like  fat  oxen  waiting  for  the  butcher's 
knife.  But  if  ye  are  mew,  then  FOLLOW  ME  !  Strike  down 
yon  sentinel,  and  gain  the  mountain  passes ;  and  then  do 
bloody  work,  as  did  your  sires  at  old  Thermopylae !  Is 
Sparta  dead?  is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your  veins? 
that  you  do  crouch  and  cower,  like  a  belabored  hound, 
beneath  his  master's  lash  ?  0  comrades !  warriors !  Thra- 
cians !  If  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  for  ourselves.  If  we 
must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors.  If  we  must 
die,  let  us  die  under  the  free  sky,  by  the  bright  waters,  in 

NOBLE,   HONORABLE  BATTLE!  FROM  KELLOGG. 


CIII.— THE  GLADIATOR 

GYVES  ;  pro.  jives,  fetters  for  the  legs. 

ZAARA  ;  an  African  desert,  full  of  wild  beasts. 

THEY  led  a  lion  from  his  den, 

The  lord  of  Afric's  sun-scorched  plain; 
And  there  he  stood,  stern  foe  of  men, 

And  shook  his  flowing  mane. 
They  brought  a  dark-haired  man  along, 

Whose  limbs  with  gyves  of  brass  were  bound; 
Youthful  he  seemed,  and  bold,  and  strong, 

And  yet  unscathed  of  wound. 

Then  shouted  the  plebeian  crowd, 

Rung  the  glad  galleries  with  the  sound; 

And  from  the  throne  there  spake  aloud 
A  voice,  "  Be  the  bold  man  unbound ! 

And,  by  Rome's  scepter,  yet  unbowed, 
By  Rome,  earth's  monarch  crowned, 

Who  dares  the  bold,  the  unequal  strife, 

Though  doomed  to  death,  shall  save  his  life." 

Joy  was  upon  that  dark  man's  face, 
And  thus,  with  laughing  eye,  spake  he: 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  195 

"Loose  ye  the  lord  of  Zaara's  waste; 

And  let  my  arms  be  free: 
'He  has  a  martial  heart/  thou  sayest, 

But  oh !  who  will  not  be 
A  hero,  when  he  fights  for  life, 
And  home,  and  country ;  babes  and  wife  ? 

"And  thus  I  for  the  strife  prepare; 

The  Thracian  falchion  to  me  bring; 
But  ask  the  imperial  leave  to  spare 

The  shield,  a  useless  thing. 
Were  I  a  Samnite's  rage  to  dare, 

Then  o'er  me  should  I  fling 
The  broad  orb ;  but  to  lion's  wrath 
The  shield  were  but  a  sword  of  lath." 

And  he  has  bared  his  shining  blade, 

And  springs  he  on  the  shaggy  foe; 
Dreadful  the  strife,  but  briefly  played; 

The  desert-king  lies  low. 

"Kneel  down,  Rome's  emperor  beside!" 
He  knelt,  that  dark  man;  o'er  his  brow 

Was  thrown  a  wreath  in  crimson  died; 
And  fair  words  gild  it  now : 

"Thou'rt  the  bravest  youth  that  ever  tried 
To  lay  a  lion  low; 

And  from  our  presence  forth  thou  go'st 

To  lead  the  Dacians  of  our  host." 

Then  flushed  his  cheek,  but  not  with  pride, 

And  grieved  and  gloomily  spoke  he : 
"My  cabin  stands  where  blithely  glide 

Proud  Danube's  waters  to  the  sea: 
I  have  a  young  and  blooming  bride, 

And  I  have  children  three: 
No  Roman  wealth  or  rank  can  give 
Such  joy,  as  in  their  arms  to  live. 

"My  wife  sits  at  the  cabin  door, 
With  throbbing  heart  and  swollen  eyes; 

While  tears  her  cheek  are  coursing  o'er, 
She  speaks  of  sundered  ties. 

She  bids  my  tender  babes  deplore 
The  death  their  father  dies ; 

She  tells  these  jewels  of  my  home, 

I  bleed  to  please  the  rout  of  Rome. 


196  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

"I  can  not  let  those  cherubs  stray 
Without  their  sire's  protecting  care; 

And  I  would  chase  the  griefs  away 
Which  cloud  my  wedded  fair." 

The  monarch  spoke,  the  guards  obey, 
And  gates  unclo-sed  are ; 

He's  gone!  no  golden  bribes  divide 

The  Dacian  from  his  babes  and  bride. 


CIV.— DEATH  OF  MARMION. 

WITH  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen  drenched  with  gore, 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strained  the  broken  band; 
His  arms  were  smeared  with  blood  and  sund, 
Dragged  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone; 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marinion? 

When,  doffed  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air, 

Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare : 

"  Where 's  Harry  Blount  ?  Fitz-Eustace  where  ? 

Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ? 

Redeem  my  pennon  !  charge  again ! 

Cry;  'Marmion  to  the  rescue!'     Vain! 

Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 

That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again! 

Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's:  fly! 

Must  I  bid  twice-?  hence,  varlets !  hie! 

Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay. 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away, 
Till  pain  rung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 
And  half  he  murmured,  "  Is  there  none, 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nursed, 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring, 
Of  bless-ed  water  from  the  spring, 

To  slake  my  dying  thirst?" 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  197 

0,  woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 

And  variable  as  the  shade 

By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made; 

When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 

A  ministering  angel  thou ! 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 

When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran: 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears: 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears, 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 

She  filled  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  monk  supporting  Marmion's  head; 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 

To  shrive  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

With  fruitless  labor,  Clara  bound, 

And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound. 

The  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares, 

Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers. 

Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 

A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear, 

And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear; 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 

"  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  wars  rattle  with  groans  of  the  dying!" 

So  the  notes  rung: 

"Avoid  thee,  Fiend!  with  cruel  hand, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand! 
O  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine; 

O  think  on  faith  and  bliss! 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this." 

The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swelled  the  gale, 

And — STANLEY  !  was  the  cry ; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  dazing  eye: 


198  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

With  dying  hand,  above  his  head, 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "Victory! 
Charge,  Chester,  charge!     On,  Stanley,  on!" 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 

FROM  SCOTT. 


CV.— OTHELLO  AND  IAGO. 

IAGO,  under  pretense  of  friendship,  is  OTHELLO'S  enemy,  and  to  be 
revenged  on  him,  attempts,  in  the  following  scene,  to  excite  hjs  jeal- 
ousy of  his  innocent  wife.  The  cunning  of  lago  and  the  rising  of 
jealousy  in  Othello,  are  admirably  portrayed. 

lago.    MY  noble  lord! 

Oth.     What  dost  thou  say,  lago? 

lago.    Did  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  wooed  my  lady, 
Know  of  your  love  ? 

Oth.     He  did,  from  first  to  last.     Why  dost  thou  ask? 

lago.    But  for  the  satisfaction  of  my  thought ; 
No  further  harm. 

Oth.     What  of  thy  thought,  lago  ? 

lago.    I  did  not  think  he  had  been  acquainted  with  her. 

Olh.     O  yes ;  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 

lago.    Indeed ! 

Oth.     Indeed!  indeed!     Discern' st  thou  aught  in  that? 
Is  he  not  honest? 

lago.    Honest,  my  lord  ? 

Oth.     Honest?  ay,  honest. 

lago.    My  lord,  for  aught  I  know. 

Oth.     What  dost  thou  think? 

lago.   Think,  my  lord  ? 

Oth.     Think,  my  lord !     Thou  echo'st  me, 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  thy  thought, 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown.     Thou  dost  mean  something : 
I  heard  thee  say  but  now,  "  I  like  not  that," 
When  Cassio  left  my  wife :     What  didst  not  like  ? 
And,  when  I  told  thee  he  was  of  my  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  criedst,  "  Indeed !" 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 
As  if  thou  hadst  shut  up  in  thy  brain 
Some  horrible  conceit.     If  thou  dost  love  me, 
Show  me  .thy  thought, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  199 

lago.   My  lord,  you  know  I  love  you. 

Oth.     I  think  thou  dost. 

And — for  I  know  thou'rt  full  of  love  and  honesty, 
And  weigh' st  thy  words  before  thou  giv'st  them  breath, 
Therefore  these  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the  more : 
For  such  things  in  a  false,  disloyal  knave, 
Are  tricks  of  custom;  but,  in  a  man  that's  just, 
They're  close  denotements,  working  from  the  heart, 
That  passion  can  not  rule. 

lago.   For  Michael  Cassio, 
I  dare  be  sworn,  I  think,  that  he  is  honest. 

Oth.     I  think  so,  too.    . 

lago.    Men  should  be  what  they  seem: 
Or,  those  that  be  not,  would  they  might  seem  none! 

Oth.     Certain,  men  should  be  what  they  seem. 

lago.    Why,  then,  I  think  Cassio 's  an  honest  man. 

Oth.     Nay,  yet  there's  more  in  this; 
I  pray  thee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings, 
As  thou  dost  ruminate,  and  give  thy  worst  of  thoughts 
The  worst  of  words. 

lago.   Good,  my  lord,  pardon  me; 
Though  I  am  bound  to  every  act  of  duty, 
I  am  not  bound  to  that  all  slaves  are  free  to. 
Utter  my  thoughts!     Why,  say  they  are  vile  and  false; 
As  where 's  that  palace  whereinto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not? 

Oth.  Thou  dost  conspire  against  thy  friend,  lago, 
If  thou  but  think' st  him  wrong'd,  and  mak'st  his  ear 
A  stranger  to  thy  thoughts. 

lago.    I  do  beseech  you, 

(Though  I  perchance,  am  vicious  in  my  guess, 
As,  I  confess,  it  is  my  nature's  plague 
To  spy  into  abuses,  and,  oft,  my  jealousy 
Shapes  faults  that  are  not,)  I  entreat  you,  then, 
From  one  that  so  imperfectly  conceits, 
You'd  take  no  notice;  nor  build  yourself  a  trouble 
Out  of  this  scattering  and  unsure  observance : 
It  were  not  for  your  quiet,  nor  your  good, 
Nor  for  my  manhood,  honesty,  or  wisdom, 
To  let  you  know  my  thoughts. 

Oth.     What  dost  thou  mean  ? 

lago.   Good  name,  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls  : 
Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash;  'tis  something,  nothing: 


200  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands; 
But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him, 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

Oth.     By  heaven,  I'll  know  thy  thoughts! 

logo.    You  can  not,  if  my  heart  weje  in  your  hand ; 
Nor  shall  not,  while  'tis  in  my  custody. 

Oth.     Ha!  V       I 

lago.    Oh,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy ; 
It  is  the  green-eyed  monster  which  doth  make        / 
The  meat  it  feeds  on.     That  cuckold  lives  in  bliss, 
Who,  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger ; 
But,  oh,  what  dam-ned  minutes  tells  he.  o  er,^^ 
Who  dotes,  yet  doubts;  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves! 

Oth.     Oh,  misery! 

lago.    Poor  and  content,  is  rich,  and  rich  enough; 
But  riches,  endless,  are  as  poor  as  winter, 
To  him  that  ever  fears  he  shall  be  poor: 
Good  heaven,  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend 
From  jealousy! 

Olh.     Why,  why  is  this? 
Think' st  thou  I'd  make  a  life  of  jealousy, 
To  follow  still  the  changes  of  the  moon 
With  fresh  suspicions?    No!     No,  lago, 
I'll  see  before  I  doubt;  when  I  doubt,  prove; 
And,  on  the  proof,  there  is  no  more  but  this; 
Away  at  once  with  love  or  jealousy. 

lago.    I  am  glad  of  this;  for  now  I  shall  have  reason 
To  show  the  love  and  duty  that  I  bear  you, 
With  franker  spirit:  therefore  as  I  am  bound, 
Ileceive  it  from  me:     I  speak  not  yet  of  proof : 
Look  to  your  wife;  observe  her  well  with  Cassio; 
Wear  your  eye,  thus — not  jealous,  nor  secure: 
I  would  not  have  your  free  and  noble  nature, 
Out  of  self-bounty,  be  abused ;  look  to 't. 

Olh.     Dost  thou  say  so  ? 

lago.    She  did  deceive  her  father  marrying  you ; 
And  when  she  seem  'd  to  shake,  and  fear  your  looks, 
She  loved  them  most. 

Oth.     And  so  she  did. 

lago.    Why,  go  to,  then; 

She  that  so  young,  could  give  out  such  a  seeming, 
To  seal  her  father's  eyes  up  close  as  oak; — 
Ho  thought  'twas  witchcraft: — but  I  am  much  to  blame; 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  201 

1  humbly  do  beseech  you  of  your  pardon, 
For  too  much  loving  you. 

Oth.     I  am  bound  to  thee  forever. 

lago.    I  see  this  hath  a  little  dash'd  your  spirits. 

Oik.     Not  a  jot,  not  a  jot. 

lago.    Trust  me,  I  fear  it  has. 
I  hope  you  will  consider  what  is  spoke, 
Comes  from  my  love !  but,  I  do  see,  you  are  moved : 
I  am  to  pray  you,  not  to  strain  my  speech 
To  grosser  issues,  nor  to  larger  reach, 
Than  to  suspicion.     (Exit.) 

Oth.     Why  did  I  marry?     This  honest  creature,  doubtless, 
Sees  and  knows  more,  much  more,  than  he  unfolds.     (Exit.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


CVL— MATRIMONY. 

AT  the  close  of  the  third  paragraph,  the  speaker  should  pause  awhile, 
and  re,sume  with  an  appearance  of  disappointment.  It  would  be  still 
better,  if  he  could  retire  for  a  moment,  and  then  return. 

CERTAINLY,  matrimony  is  an  invention  of .  Well, 

no  matter  who  invented  it.  I'm  going  to  try  it.  Here's 
my  blue  coat  with  the  bright,  brass  buttons !  The  woman 
has  yet  to  be  born  who  can  resist  that;  and  my  buff  vest 
and  neck-tie,  too!  may  I  be  shot,  if  I  don't  offer  them 
both  to  the  little  Widow  Pardiggle  this  very  night.  "Par- 
diggle !"  Phrebus !  what  a  name  for  such  a  rosebud.  I'll 
re-christen  her  by  the  euphonious  name  of  Smith.  She'll 
have  me,  of  course.  She  wants  a  husband,  I  want  a  wife: 
there  's  one  point  already  in  which  we  perfectly  agree. 

I  hate  preliminaries.  I  suppose  it  is  unnecessary  for 
me  to  begin  with  the  amatory  alphabet.  With  a  widow,  I 
suppose,  you  can  skip  the  rudiments.  Say  what  you  've 
got  to  say,  in  a  fraction  of  a  second.  Women  grow  as 
mischievous  as  Satan,  if  they  think  you  are  afraid  of  them. 
Do  I  look  as  if  I  were  afraid  ?  Just  examine  the  growth 
of  my \whiskers.  The  Bearded  Lady  couldn't  hold  a  can- 
dle to  them,  (though  I  wonder  she  don't  to  her  own.) 
Afraid?  h-m-m  !  I  feel  as  if  I  could  conquer  Asia. 

What  the  mischief  ails  this  cravat  ?     It  must  be  the  cold 


MCGUFFEY'S   NEW  .SPEAKER. 

that  makes  my  hand  tremble  so.  There — that'll  do. 
That's  quite  an  inspiration.  Brummel  himself  couldn't 
go  beyond  that.  Now  for  the  widow;  bless  her  little 
round  face !  I  'm  immensely  obliged  to  old  Pardiggle  for 
giving  her  a  quit  claim.  I  '11  make  her  as  happy  as  a  little 
robin.  Do  you  think  I  'd  bring  a  tear  into  her  lovely 
blue  eye  ?  Do  you  think  I  'd  sit,  after  tea,  with  my  back 
to  her,  and  my  feet  upon  the  mantel,  staring  up  chimney 
for  three  hours  together?  Do  you  think  I'd  leave  her 
blessed  little  side,  to  dangle  round  oyster-saloons  and  the- 
aters ?  Do  I  look  like  a  man  to  let  a  woman  flatten  her 
pretty  little  nose  against  the  window-pane  night  after  night, 
trying  to  see  me  reel  up  street?  No.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Adam  were  not  more  beautiful  in  their  nuptial-bower,  than 
I  shall  be  with  the  Widow  Pardiggle. 

Refused  by  a  widow !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing? 
Well ;  there 's  one  comfort :  nobody  '11  believe  it.  She  is 
not  so  very  pretty  after  all.  Her  eyes  are  too  small,  and 
her  hands  are  rough  and  red-dy : — not  so  very  ready 
either,  confound  the  gipsy!  What  amazing  pretty  shoulders 
she  has  !  Well,  who  cares  ? 

"  If  she  be  not  fair  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?" 

Ten  to  one,  she  'd  have  set  up  that  wretch  of  a  Pardiggle 
for  my  model.  Who  wants  to  be  Pardiggle  2d?  I  am 
glad  she  didn't  have  me.  I  mean,  I'm  glad  I  didn't  have 
her!  FROM  FANNY  FERN. 


CVII.— THE  DISAPPOINTED  HUSBAND. 

SHE'S  not  what  fancy  painted  her; 

I 'in  sadly  taken  in: 
If  some  one  else  had  won  her,  I 

Should  not  have  cared  a  pin. 

I  thought  that  she  was  mild  and  good 

As  maiden  e'er  could  be; 
I  wonder  how  she  ever  could 

Have  so  much  humbugged  me. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  203 

They  cluster  round  and  shake  my  hand; 

They  tell  me  I  am  blest : 
My  case  they  do  not  understand; 

I  think  that  /  know  best. 

They  say  she's  fairest  of  the  fair; 

They  drive  me  mad  and  madder. 
What  do  they  mean?    I  do  declare, 

I  only  wish  they  had  her. 

'Tis  true  that  she  has  lovely  locks, 

That  on  her  shoulders  fall; 
What  would  they  say,  to  see  the  box 

In  which  she  keeps  them  all? 

Her  taper  fingers,  it  is  true, 

'Twere  difficult  to  match; 
What  would  they  say,  if  they  but  knew 

How  terribly  they  scratch? 


CVIII.— AMERICA  ASCENDANT. 

TROY,  THEBES,  PALMYRA,  ATHENS  ;  ancient  governments. 
LEONIDAS  ;  a  Grecian  hero. 
OTTOMAN;  Turk. 

I  APPEAL  to  History !  Tell  me,  thou  reverend  chroni- 
cler of  the  grave,  can  all  the  illusions  of  ambition  realized, 
can  all  the  wealth  of  a  universal  commerce,  can  all  the 
achievements  of  successful  heroism,  or  all  the  establish- 
ments of  this  world's  wisdom,  secure  to  empire  the  perma- 
nency of  its  possessions  ?  Alas !  Troy  thought  so  once. 
Yet  the  land  of  Priam  lives  only  in  song!  Thebes 
thought  so  once.  Yet  her  hundred  gates  have  crumbled, 
and  her  very  tombs  are  but  as  the  dust  they  were  vainly 
intended  to  commemorate. 

So  thought  Palmyra.  Where  is  she?  So  thought  the 
countries  of  Demosthenes  and  the  Spartans.  Yet  the 
grave  of  Leonidas  is  trampled  by  the  timid  slave,  and 
Athens,  insulted  by  the  .servile,  mindless,  and  enervate  Ot- 
toman !  In  his  hurried  march,  Time  has  but  looked  at 
their  imagined  immortality ;  and  all  its  vanities,  from  the 


204  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

palace  to  the  tomb,  have,  with  their  ruins,  erased  the  very 
impression  of  his  footsteps ! 

The  days  of  their  glory  are  as  if  they  had  never  been  ; 
and  the  island,  that  was  then  a  speck,  rude  and  neglected 
in  the  barren  ocean,  now  rivals  the  ubiquity  of  their  com- 
merce, the  glory  of  their  arms,  the  fame  of  their  philoso- 
phy, the  eloquence  of  their  senate,  and  the  inspiration  of 
their  bards!  Who  shall  say,  then,  contemplating  the  past, 
that  England,  proud  and  potent  as  she  appears,  may  not, 
one  day,  be  what  Athens  is,  and  young  America  yet  soar 
to  be  what  Athens  was ! 

Who  shall  say,  that,  when  the  European  column  shall 
have  moldered,  and  the  night  of  barbarism  obscured  its 
very  ruins,  that  mighty  continent  may  not  emerge  from  the 
horizon,  to  rule,  for  its  time,  sovereign  of  the  ascendant ! 

FROM  PHILLIPS. 


CIX.— WASHINGTON. 

IT  matters  very  little  what  immediate  spot  may  have 
been  the  birthplace  of  such  a  man  as  WASHINGTON.  No 
people  can  claim,  no  country  can  appropriate  him.  The 
boon  of  Providence  to  the  human  race,  his  fame  is  eternity, 
and  his  residence  creation.  Though  it  was  the  defeat  of 
our  arms,  and  the  disgrace  of  our  policy,  I  almost  bless 
the  convulsion  in  which  he  had  his  origin. 

If  the  heavens  thundered,  and  the  earth  rocked,  yet, 
when  the  storm  had  passed,  how  pure  was  the  climate  that 
it  cleared !  How  bright,  in  the  brow  of  the  firmament, 
was  the  planet  which  it  revealed  to  us !  In  the  production 
of  Washington,  it  does  really  appear  as  if  nature  was  en- 
deavoring to  improve  upon  herself,  and  that  all  the  virtues 
of  the  ancient  world  were  but  so  many  studies  preparatory 
to  the  patriot  of  the  new. 

Individual  instances,  no  doubt,  there  were,  splendid 
exemplifications,  of  some  singular  qualification.  Caesar  was 
merciful,  Scipio  was  continent,  Hannibal  was  patient.  But 
it  was  reserved  for  Washington  to  blend  them  all  in  one, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  205 

and,  like  the  lovely  masterpiece  of  the  Grecian  artist,  to 
exhibit,  in  one  glow  of  associated  beauty,  the  pride  of 
every  model,  and  the  perfection  of  every  master. 

As  a  general,  he  marshnled  the  peasant  into  a  veteran, 
and  supplied  by  discipline  the  absence  of  experience.  As 
a  statesman,  he  enlarged  the  policy  of  the  cabinet  into  the 
most  comprehensive  system  of  general  advantage.  And 
such  was  the  wisdom  of  his  views,  and  the  philosophy  of 
his  counsels,  that,  to  the  soldier  and  the  statesman,  he 
almost  added  the  character  of  the  sagev! 

A  conqueror,  he  was  untainted  with  the  crime  of  blood. 
A  revolutionist,  he  was  free  from  any  stain  of  treason  ; 
for  aggression  commenced  the  contest,  and  his  country 
called  him  to  the  command.  Liberty  unsheathed  his 
sword,  necessity  stained,  victory  returned  it.  If  he  had 
paused  here,  history  might  have  doubted  what  station  to 
assign  him ;  whether  at  the  head  of  her  citizens,  or  her 
soldiers,  her  heroes,  or  her  patriots. 

But  the  last  glorious  act  crowns  his  career,  and  banishes 
all  hesitation.  Who,  like  Washington,  after  having  eman- 
cipated a  hemisphere,  resigned  its  crown,  and  preferred  the 
retirement  of  domestic  life  to  the  adoration  of  a  land  he 
might  be  almost  said  to  have  created !  Happy,  proud 
America !  The  lightnings  of  heaven  yielded  to  your  phi- 
losophy !  The  temptations  of  earth  could  not  seduce  your 
patriotism  !  FKOM  PHILLIPS. 


CX.— WISDOM  OF  WASHINGTON. 

4 

GENET  ;  pro.  Zhen-nay,  a  French  minister  to  the  United  States. 

How  infinitely  superior  must  appear  the  spirit  and  prin- 
ciples of  General  Washington,  in  his  late  address  to  Con- 
gress, compared  with  the  policy  of  modern  European 
Courts !  Illustrious  man  !  Deriving  honor  less  from  the 
splendor  of  his  situation  than  from  the  dignity  of  his  mind! 
Grateful  to  France  for  the  assistance  received  from  her,  in 
that  great  contest  which  secured  the  independence  of 
America,  he  yet  did  not  choose  to  give  up  the  system  of 


206  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

neutrality  in  her  favor.  Having  once  laid  down  the  line 
of  conduct  most  proper  to  be  pursued,  not  all  the  insults 
and  provocations  of  the  French  minister,  Genet,  could  at 
all  put  him  out  of  his  way,  or  bend  him  from  his  pur- 
pose. 

It  must,  indeed,  create  astonishment,  that,  placed  in 
circumstances  so  critical,  and  filling  a  station  so  conspicu- 
ous, the  character  of  Washington  should  never  once  have 
been  called  in  question ;  that  he  should,  in  no  one  instance, 
have  been  accused  either  of  improper  insolence,  or  of  mean 
submission,  in  his  transactions  with  foreign  nations.  It 
has  been  reserved  for  him  to  run  the  race  of  glory,  with- 
out experiencing  the  smallest  interruption  to  the  brilliancy 
of  his  career.  The  breath  of  censure  has  not  dared  to 
impeach  the  purity  of  his  conduct,  nor  the  eye  of  envy  to 
raise  its  malignant  glance  to  the  elevation  of  his  virtues. 
Such  has  been  the  transcendent  merit  and  the  unparalleled 
fate  of  this  illustrious  man  ! 

How  did  he  act,  when  insulted  by  Genet?  Did  he  con- 
sider it  as  necessary  to  avenge  himself  for  the  misconduct 
or  madness  of  an  individual,  by  involving  a  whole  conti- 
nent in  the  horrors  of  war?  .No.  He  contented  himself 
with  procuring  satisfaction  for  the  insult,  by  causing  Genet 
to  be  recalled.  He  thus,  at  once,  consulted  his  own  dig- 
nity and  the  interests  of  his  country.  Happy  Ameri- 
cans !  While  the  whirlwind  flies  over  one  quarter  of  the 
globe,  and  spreads  everywhere  desolation,  you  remain 
protected  from  its  baneful  effects  by  your  own  virtues, 
and  the  wisdom  of  your  government.  Separated  from 
Europe  by  an  immense  ocean,  you  feel  not  the  effect  of 
those  prejudices  and  passions,  which  convert  the  boasted 
seats  of  civilization  into  scenes  of  horror  and  bloodshed ! 

You  profit  by  the  folly  and  madness  of  the  contending 
nations,  and  afford,  in  your  more  congenial  clime,  an  asy- 
lum to  those  blessings  and  virtues  which  they  wantonly 
contemn,  or  wickedly  exclude  from  their  bosom !  Culti- 
vating the  arts  of  peace  under  the  influence  of  freedom, 
you  advance,  by  rapid  strides,  to  opulence  and  distinction. 
If,  by  any  accident,  you  should  be  compelled  to  take  part 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  207 

in  the  present  unhappy  contest;  if  you  should  find  it  ne- 
cessary to  avenge  insult  or  repel  injury,  the  world  will 
bear  witness  to  the  equity  of  your  sentiments  and  the 
moderation  of  your  views  ;  and  the  success  of  your  arms 
will,  no  doubt,  be  proportioned  to  the  justice  of  your  cause! 

FROM  Fox. 


CXI.— WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY. 

WE  are  at  the  point  of  a  century  from  the  birth  of 
Washington ;  and  what  a  century  it  has  been  !  During 
its  course,  the  human  mind  has  seemed  to  proceed  with  a 
sort  of  geometric  velocity,  accomplishing,  for  human  intel- 
ligence and  human  freedom,  more  than  had  been  done  in 
fives  or  tens  of  centuries  preceding.  Washington  stands  at 
the  head  of  a  new  era,  as  well  as  at  the  head  of  the  New 
World.  A  century  from  the  birth  of  Washington  has 
changed  the  world.  The  country  of  Washington  has  been 
the  theater  on  which  a  great  part  of  that  change  has  been 
wrought;  and  Washington  himself,  a  principal  agent  by 
which  it  has  been  accomplished.  His  age  and  his  country 
are  equally  full  of  wonders,  and  of  both  he  is  the  chief. 

If  the  prediction  of  the  poet,  uttered  a  few  years  before 
his  birth,  be  true  :  if  indeed  it  be  designed  by  Providence 
that  the  grandest  exhibition  of  human  character  and  human 
affairs  shall  be  made  on  this  theater  of  the  western  world : 
if  it  be  true  that, 

"  The  four  first  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day; 
Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last;" 

how  could  this,  imposing,  swelling,  final  scene,  be  appropri- 
ately opened,  how  could  its  intense  interest  be  adequately 
sustained,  but  by  the  introduction  of  just  such  a  character 
as  our  Washington. 

Washington  had  attained  his  manhood  when  that  spark 
of  liberty  was  struck  out  in  his  own  country,  which  has 
since  kindled  into  a  flame,  and  shot  its  beams  over  the 
earth.  In  the  flow  of  a  century  from  his  birth,  the  world 


MCQUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

has  changed  in  science,  in  arts,  in  the  extent  of  commerce, 
in  the  improvement  of  navigation,  and  in  all  that  relates 
to  the  civilization  of  man.  But  it  is  the  spirit  of  human 
freedom,  the  new  elevation  of  individual  man,  in  his  moral, 
social,  and  political  character,  leading  the  whole  long  train 
of  other  improvements,  which  has  most  remarkably  distin- 
guished the  era. 

^  Society,  in  this  century,  has  not  made  its  progress,  like 
Chinese  skill,  by  a  greater  acutcness  of  ingenuity  in 
trifles.  It  has  not  merely  lashed  itself  to  an  increased 
speed  round  the  old  circles  of  thought  and  action.  It 
has  assumed  a  new  character.  It  has  raised  itself  from 
beneath  governments  to  a  participation  in  governments. 
It  has  mixed  moral  and  political  objects  with  the  daily  pur- 
suits of  individual  men. 

With  a  freedom  and  strength  before  altogether  unknown, 
it  has  applied  to  these  objects  the  whole  power  of  the  hu- 
man understanding.  It  has  been  the  era,  in  short,  when 
the  social  principle  has  triumphed  over  the  feudal  princi- 
ple, when  society  has  maintained  its  rights  against  military 
power,  and  established,  on  foundations  never  hereafter  to  be 
shaken,  its  competency  to  govern  itself. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


CXII.— WHAT  CONSTITUTES  A  STATE. 
DISCRETION,  in  the  last  line  but  two,  means  arbitrary  power. 

WHAT  constitutes  a  state? 
Not  high-raised  battlements,  or  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall,  or  moated  gate; 
Not  cities  proud,  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned; 

Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports, 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies  ride ; 

Not  starred  and  spangled  courts, 
Where  low-born  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride. 

No.     Men,  high-minded  men, 
With  power  as  far  above  dull  brutes  indued, 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  209 

Men,  who  their  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights ;  and  knowing,  dare  maintain, 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the  chain. 

These  constitute  a  state; 
And  sovereign  law,  that  state's  collected  will, 

O'er  thrones  and  globes  elate, 
Sits  empress,  crowning  good,  repressing  ill: 

Smit  by  her  sacred  frown, 
The  fiend  Discretion,  like  a  vapor,  sinks, 

And  e'en  the  all-dazzling  crown 
Hides  his  faint  rays,  and  at  her  bidding  shrinks. 


CXIII.— MARATHON. 

MARATHON  ;  the  scene  of  a  celebrated  battle  in  the  early  history  of 
Greece. 

ATHENA;  Athens.     HELLAS;  Greece.    IONIAN;  Grecian. 

WHERE'ER  we  tread,  'tis  haunted,  holy  ground, 
No  earth  of  thine  is  lost  in  vulgar  mold ! 
But  one  vast  realm  of  wonder  spreads  around, 
And  all  the  Muse's  tales  seem  truly  told, 
Till  the  sense  aches  with  gazing  to  behold 
The  scenes  our  earliest  dreams  have  dwelt  upon. 
Each  hill  and  dale,  each  deepening  glen  and  wold, 
Defies  the  power,  which  crushed  thy  temples  gone. 
Age  shakes  .Athena's  tower,  but  spares  gray  Marathon. 

The  sun,  the  soil,  but  not  the  slave  the  same, 
Unchanged  in  all  except  its  foreign  lord, 
Preserves  alike  its  bounds  and  boundless  fame, 
The  battlefield,  where  Persia's  victim  horde 
First  bowed  beneath  the  brunt  of  Hellas'  sword, 
As  ox>  the  morn  to  distant  glory  dear, 
When  Marathon  became  a  magic  word, 
Wbich  uttered,  to  the  hearer's  eye  appear 
The  camp,  the  host,  the  fight,  the  conqueror's  career! 

The  flying  Mede,  his  shaftless,  broken  bow, 
The  fiery  Greek,  his  red,  pursuing  spear, 
Mountains  above,  earth's,  ocean's  plain  below, 
Death  in  the  front,  destruction  in  the  rear ! 
Such  was  the  scene.     What  now  remaineth  here? 
NEW  EC.  S.— IS 


210  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

What  sacred  trophy  marks  the  hallowed  ground, 
Recording  freedom's  smile  and  Asia's  tear  ? 
The  rifled  urn,  the  violated  mound, 
The  dust,  thy  courser's  hoof,  rude  stranger!  spurns  around. 

Yet  to  the  remnants  of  thy  splendor  past, 
Shall  pilgrims,  pensive,  but  unwearied,  throng; 
Long  shall  the  voyager,  with  the  Ionian  blast, 
Hail  the  bright  clime  of  battle  and  of  song ; 
Long  shall  thine  annals  and  immortal  tongue 
Fill  with  thy  fame  the  youth  of  many  a  shore; 
Boast  of  the  a-ged !  lesson  of  the  young ! 
Which  sages  venerate  and  bards  adore, 
As  Pallas  and  the  Muse  unvail  their  awful  lore. 

FROM  BYRON. 


CXIV.— ATHENS. 

ERASMUS,  PASCAL,  MIRABEAU,  GALILEO,  SIDNEY  ;  distinguished  mea 
who  were  persecuted  for  their  liberal  opinions ;  Erasm"-?  translated 
the  Greek  Testament  into  Latin  ;  Mirabeau  was  an  early  leader  of  the 
French  Revolution ;  Galileo  discovered  the  true  relations  of  the  heav- 
enly bodies. 

ALL  the  triumphs  of  truth  and  genius  over  prejudice 
and  power,  in  every  country  and  in  every  age,  have  been 
the  triumphs  of  Athens.  Whenever  a  few  great  minds 
have  made  a  stand  against  violence  and  fraud,  in  the  cause 
of  liberty  and  reason,  there  has  been  her  spirit  in  the 
midst  of  them ;  inspiring,  encouraging,  and  consoling.  It 
stood  by  the  lonely  lamp  of  Erasmus;  by  the  restless  bed 
of  Pascal ;  in  the  tribune  of  Mirabeau ;  in  the  cell  of  Gali- 
leo; on  the  scaffold  of  Sidney. 

But  who  shall  estimate  her  influence  on  private  happi- 
ness? Who  shall  say  how  many  thousands  have  been 
made  wiser,  happier,  and  better,  by  thoso  pursuits  in  which 
she  has  taught  mankind  to  engage;  to  how  many  the 
studies  which  took  their  rise  from  her  have  been  wealth  in 
poverty ;  liberty  in  bondage  ;  health  in  sickness ;  society 
in  solitude.  Her  power  is  indeed  manifested  at  the  bar; 
in  the  senate ;  in  the  field  of  battle ;  in  the  schools  of  phi- 
losophy. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  211 

But  these  are  not  her  glory.  Wherever  literature  con- 
soles sorrow,  or  assuages  pain;  wherever  it  brings  glad- 
ness to  eyes  which  fail  with  wakefulness  and  tears,  and 
wait  for  the  dark  house  and  the  long  sleep,  there  is  exhib- 
ited, in  its  noblest  form,  the  immortal  influence  of  Athens. 

The  dervise,  in  the  Arabian  tale,  did  not  hesitate  to 
abandon  to  his  comrade  the  camels  with  their  load  of 
jewels  and  gold,  while  he  retained  the  casket  of  that  mys- 
terious juice,  which  enabled  him  to  behold  at  one  glance 
all  the  hidden  riches  of  the  universe.  Surely  it  is  no  ex- 
aggeration to  say,  that  no  external  advantage  is  to  be  com- 
pared with  that  purification  of  the  intellectual  eye,  which 
gives  us  to  contemplate  the  infinite  wealth  of  the  mental 
world;  all  the  hoarded  treasures  of  the  primeval  dynasties, 
all  the  shapeless  ore  of  the  yet  unexplored  mines. 

This  is  the  gift  of  Athens  to  man.  Her  freedom  and 
her  power  have  for  more  than  twenty  centuries  been  anni- 
hilated. Her  people  have  degenerated  into  timid  slaves; 
her  language,  into  a  barbarous  jargon.  Her  temples  have 
been  given  up  to  the  successive  depredations  of  Romans, 
Turks,  and  Scotchmen;  but  her  intellectual  empire  is  im- 
perishable. 

And,  when  those  who  have  rivaled  her  greatness,  shall 
have  shared  her  fate :  when  civilization  and  knowledge  shall 
have  fixed  their  abode  in  distant  continents ;  when  the 
scepter  shall  have  passed  away  from  England ;  when,  per- 
haps, travelers  from  distant  regions  shall  in  vain  labor  to 
decipher  on  some  moldering  pedestal  the  name  of  our 
proudest  chief;  and  shall  see  a  single  naked  fisherman 
wash  his  nets  in  the  river  of  the  ten  thousand  masts ;  her 
influence  and  her  glory  will  still  survive,  fresh  in  eternal 
youth,  exempt  from  mutability  and  decay,  immortal  as  the 
intellectual  principle  from  which  they  derived  their  origin, 
and  over  which  they  exercise  their  control. 

FROM  MACAULAY. 


212  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXV.— GREECE. 

CLIME  of  the  unforgotten  brave! 
Whose  land  from  plain  to  mountain-cave 
Was  freedom's  home,  or  glory's  grave! 
Shrine  of  the  mighty !  can  it  be, 
That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  ? 
Approach,  thou  craven,  crouching  slave, 
Say,  is  not  this  Thermopylae? 
These  waters  blue  that  round  you  lave, 

O  servile  offspring  of  the  free ! 
Pronounce  what  sea,  what  shore  is  this: 
The  gulf,  the  rock,  of  Salamis ! 

These  scenes,  their  story  not  unknown, 
Arise,  and  make  again  your  own: 
Snatch  from  the  ashes  of  your  sires 
The  embers  of  their  former  fires ; 
And  he,  who  in  the  strife  expires, 
Will  add  to  theirs  a  name  of  fear, 
That  tyranny  shall  quake  to  hear, 
And  leave  his  sons  a  hope,  a  fame, 
They  too  will  rather  die  than  shame; 
For  freedom's  battle  once  begun, 
Bequeathed  by  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Though  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won. 

Bear  witness,  Greece,  thy  living  page ! 
Attest  it,  many  a  deathless  age ! 
While  kings,  in  dusty  darkness  hid, 
Have  left  a  nameless  pyramid, 
Thy  heroes,  though  the  general  doom 
Hath  swept  the  column  from  their  tomb, 
A  mightier  monument  command, 
The  mountains  of  their  native  land ! 
There  points  thy  muse,  to  stranger's  eye, 
The  graves  of  those  that  can  not  die ! 

'Twere  long  to  tell,  and  sad  to  trace, 
Each  step  from  splendor  to  disgrace. 
Enough,  no  foreign  foe  could  quell 
Thy  soul,  till  from  itself  it  fell. 
Yes !  self-abasement  paved  the  way 
To  villain  bonds  and  despot  sway. 

FROM  BYROX. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  213 


CXVL—  THE  FLIGHT  OF  XERXES. 

XERXES,  king  of  Persia,  assembled  a  fleet  of  a  thousand  sail  and 
an  army  of  many  millions,  to  effect  the  conquest  of  Greece.  At  Salamis, 
he  was  completely  overthrown,  and  fled  from  the  battle  alone. 

I  SAW  him  on  the  battle  eve, 

When  like  a  king  he  bore  him; 
Proud  hosts,  in  glittering  helm  and  greave, 

And  prouder  chiefs  before  him; 
The  warrior,  and  the  warrior's  deeds; 
The  morrow,  and  the  morrow's  meeds; 

No  daunting  thoughts  came  o'er  him. 
He  looked  around  him,  and  his  eye 
Defiance  flashed,  to  earth  and  sky. 

He  looked  on  ocean;  its  broad  breast 

Was  covered  with  his  fleet; 
On  earth ;  and  saw,  from  east  to  west, 

His  bannered  millions  meet; 
While  rocks,  and  glen,  and  cave,  and  coast, 
Shook  with  the  warcry  of  that  host, 

The  thunder  of  their  feet! 
He  heard  the  imperial  echoes  ring, 
He  heard,  and  felt  himself  a  king. 

I  saw  him  next,  alone.     Nor  camp, 

Nor  chief,  his  steps  attended; 
Nor  banner  blazed,  nor  courser's  tramp, 

With  warcries  proudly  blended. 
He  stood,  alone,  whom  fortune  high 
So  lately  seemed  to  deify; 

He,  who  with  heaven  contended, 
Fled  like  a  fugitive  and  slave! 
Behind, — the  foe ;  before, — the  wave. 

He  stood:  fleet,  army,  treasure, — gone! 

Alone  and  in  despair! 
But  wave  and  wind  swept  ruthless  on, 

For  they  were  monarchs  there; 
And  Xerxes,  in  a  single  bark, 
Where  late  his  thousand  ships  were  dark, 

Must  all  their  fury  dare: 
What  a  revenge,  a  trophy,  this, 
For  thee,  immortal  Salamis! 


214  MCGUFFET'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXVIL— THE  PERUVIAN  PRISONER 

NOT  long  after  the  discovery  of  South  America,  the  Spaniards  com- 
menced a  series  of  wars  for  its  conquest,  in  which  they  ultimately  suc- 
ceeded. The  natives,  however,  defended  themselves  with  great  hero- 
ism, Their  spirit  is  well  exemplified  in  Orozembo,  the  hero  of  the 
following  scene,  taken  prisoner  by  Pizarro,  one  of  the  Spanish  con- 
querors, and  in  Holla,  and  Alonzo  in  the  scene  succeeding  this. 

CHARACTERS. — Pizarro,  the  Spanish  Captain ;  Davillo,  a  Spanish  soldier  ; 
and  Orozembo,  a  Peruvian  prisoner. 

(Enter  Davillo.) 

Pizarro.     How!  Davillo,  what  bringest  thou? 

Davillo.  On  yonder  hill,  among  the  palm  trees,  we  have 
surprized  an  old  Peruvian.  Escape  by  flight  he  could  not, 
and  we  seized  him  and  his  attendant  unresisting ;  yet  his 
lips  breathe  nothing  but  bitterness  and  scorn. 

Pizarro.  Drag  him  before  us.  (Orozenibo  is  led  in.) 
What  art  thou,-  stranger  ? 

Orozembo.  First  tell  me  which  among  you  is  the  captain 
of  this  band  of  robbers. 

Piz.  Audacious!  This  insolence  has  sealed  thy  doom. 
Die  thou  shalt,  gray-headed  ruffian.  But  first  confess  what 
thou  knowest. 

Oro.  I  know  that  which  thou  hast  just  assured  me  of; 
that  I  shall  die. 

Piz.  Less  audacity,  perhaps,  might  have  preserved  thy 
life. 

Oro.  My  life  is  as  a  withered  tree ;  it  is  not  worth  pre- 
serving. 

Piz.  Hear  me,  old  man.  Even  now  we  march  against 
the  Peruvian  army.  We  know  there  is  a  secret  path  that 
leads  to  your  stronghold  among  the  rocks.  Guide  us  to 
that,  and  name  your  reward.  If  wealth  be  thy  wish — 

Oro.    Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Piz.     Dost  thou  despise  my  offer? 

Oro.  Thee,  and  thy  offer !  Wealth?  I  have  the  wealth 
of  two,  dear,  gallant  sons.  I  have  stored  in  heaven  the 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  215 

riches  which  repay  good  actions  here ;  and  still,  my  chief 
treasure  I  do  bear  about  me. 

Piz.     What  is  that?     Inform  me. 

Oro.    I  will ;   for  it  never  can  be  thine :  the  treasure  of 
a  pure,  unsullied  conscience. 

Piz.     I  believe  there  is  no  other  Peruvian  dares  speak 
as  thqu  dost. 

Oro.    Would  I  could  believe  there  is  no  other  Spaniard 
who  dares  act  as  thou  dost. 

Piz.     Obdurate  pagan!     How  numerous  is  your  army? 

Oro.    Count  the  leaves  of  yonder  forest. 

Piz.     Which  is  the  weakest  part  of  your  camp  ? 

Oro.    It  has  no  weak  part;  on  every  side  'tis  fortified  by 
truth  and  justice. 

Piz.     Where  have  you   concealed  your  wives  and  your 
children  ? 

Oro.    In  the  hearts  of  their  husbands  and  their  fathers. 

Piz.     Knowest  thou  Alonzo? 

Oro.    Know  him  ?    Alonzo  ?    Know  him  ?    Our  nation's 
benefactor?     The  guardian  angel  of  Peru? 

Piz.     By  what  has  he  merited  that  title? 

Oro.    By  not  resembling  thee. 

Piz.     Who   is  this   Holla,   joined  with  Alonzo   in   com- 
mand? 

.  Oro.  I  will  answer  that ;  for  I  love  to  hear  and  to  re- 
peat the  hero's  name.  Holla,  the  kinsman  of  the  king,  is 
the  idol  of  our  army ;  in  war,  a  tiger,  chased  by  the 
hunter's  spear ;  in  peace,  more  gentle  than  the  unweaned 
lamb.  Cora  was  once  betrothed  to  him ;  but  finding  she 
preferred  Alonzo,  he  resigned  his  claim,  and,  I  fear,  his 
peace,  to  friendship,  and  to  Cora's  happiness :  yet  still  he 
loves  her  with  a  pure  and  holy  fire. 

Piz.     Romantic  savage!     I  shall  meet  this  Holla  soon. 

Oro.    Thou'dst  better  not!     The  terror  of  his  noble  eye 
would  strike  thee  dead. 

Dav.    Silence,  or  tremble  ! 

Oro.    Beardless    robber !  why   should   I    tremble   before 
man  ?     Why  before  thee,  thou  less  than  man  ! 

Dav.    Another  word,  audacious  heathen,  and  I  strike! 


316  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Oro.  Strike,  Christian !  Then  boast  among  thy  fel- 
lows,— I,  too,  have  murdered  a  Peruvian  ! 

Dav.    Death  and  vengeance  seize  thee  !     (Stabs  him.) 

Piz.     Hold ! 

Dav.    Couldst  thou  longer  have  endured  his  insults  ? 

Piz.     And  therefore  should  he  die  untortured? 

Oro.  True!  Observe,  young  man,  thy  unthinking  rash- 
ness has  saved  me  from  the  rack ;  and  thou  thyself  hast 
lost  the  opportunity  of  a  useful  lesson  ;  thou  mightest  thy- 
self have  seen  with  what  cruelty  vengeance  would  have 
inflicted  torments :  and  with  what  patience  virtue  would 
have  borne  them. 

Piz.     Away  !     Davillo  !  if  thus  rash  a  second  time — 

Dav.    Forgive  the  hasty  indignation  which — 

Piz.  No  more,  our  guard  and  guides  approach.  Follow 
me,  friends  !  each  shall  have  his  post  assigned,  and  ere 
Peruvia's  God  shall  sink  beneath  the  main,  the  Spanish 
banner  bathed  in  blood,  shall  float  above  the  walls  of  van- 
quished Quito.  (Exeunt.)  FROM  SHERIDAN. 


CXVIIL— ROLLA  AND  ALONZO. 

CHARACTERS. — Alonzo,  a  Peruvian  prisoner ;  Rolla^  his  friend;  and  a 
Spanish  sentinel. 

Alonzo.  FOR  the  last  time,  I  have  beheld  the  shadowed 
ocean  close  upon  the  light.  For  the  last  time,  through  my 
cleft  dungeon's  roof,  I  now  behold  the  quivering  luster  of 
the  stars.  For  the  last  time,  oh  sun  !  (and  soon  the  hour,) 
I  shall  behold  thy  rising,  and  thy  level  beams,  melting  the 
pale  mists  of  morn  to  glittering  dew  drops.  Then  comes 
my  death,  and  in  the  morning  of  my  day,  I  fall, — but  no, 
Alonzo,  date  not  the  life  which  thou  hast  run  by  the  mean 
reckoning  of  the  hours  and  days  which  thou  hast  breathed. 
A  life  spent  worthily  should  be  measured  by  a  nobler  line; 
by  deeds,  not  years.  Then  wouldst  thou  murmur  not,  but 
bless  Providence,  which,  in  so  short  a  span,  made  thee 
the  instrument  of  wide  and  spreading  blessings  to  the 
helpless  and  oppressed !  Though  sinking  in  decrepit  age, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  217 

he  prematurely  falls,  whose  memory  records  no  benefit 
conferred  by  him  on  man.  They  only  have  lived  long, 
who  have  lived  virtuously. '  Surely,  even  now,  thin  streaks 
of  glimmering  light  steal  on  the  darkness  of  the  east.  If 
so,  my  life  is  but  one  hour  more.  I  will  not  watch  the 
coming  dawn  ;  but,  in  the  darkness  of  my  cell,  my  last 
prayer  to  thee,  Power  Supreme  !  shall  be  for  my  wife  and 
child  !  Grant  them  innocence  and  peace ;  grant  health, 
and  purity  of  mind;  all  else  is  worthless.  (Enters  his  cell?) 
(Enter  Rolla,  disguised  as  a  monk;  and  a  sentinel,) 

Rolla.  Inform  me,  friend,  is  Alonzo,  the  Spanish  pris- 
oner, confined  in  this  dungeon? 

Sentinel.     He  is. 

RoL     I  must  speak  with  him. 

Sen.     You  must  not. 

RoL     He  is  my  friend. 

Sen.     Not  if  he  were  thy  brother. 

RoL     What  is  to  be  his  fate? 

Sen.     He  dies  at  sunrise. 

RoL     Ha  !  then  I  am  come  in  time. 

Sen.     Just, — to  witness  his  death. 

RoL     Soldier,  I  must  speak  to  him. 

Sen.     Back,  back.     It  is  impossible. 

RoL     I  do  entreat  thee,  but  for  one  moment. 

Sen.  Thou  entreatest  in  vain ;  my  orders  are  most 
strict. 

RoL     Even  now,  I  saw  a  messenger  go  hence. 

Sen.  He  brought  a  pass  which  we  are  all  accustomed  to 
obey. 

RoL  Look  on  this  wedge  of  massive  gold  ;  look  on  these 
precious  gems.  In  thy  own  land  they  will  be  wealth  for 
thee  and  thine,  beyond  thy  hope  or  wish.  Take  them; 
they  are  thine.  Let  me  but  pass  one  minute  with  Alonzo. 

Sen.  Away!  Wouldst  thou  corrupt  me?  Mef  an  old 
Castilian  ?  I  know  my  duty  better. 

RoL     Soldier,  hast  thou  a  wife? 

Sen.     I  have. 

RoL     Hast  thou  children  f 

Sen.     Four, — honest,  lively  boys. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 19 


218  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

Rol     Where  didst  thou  leave  them  ? 

Sen.  In  my  native  village ;  even  in  the  cot  where  my- 
self was  born. 

Rol.     Dost  thou  love  thy  children  and  thy  wife? 

Sen.     Bo  I  love  them?    .God  knows  my  heart.     I  do. 

Rol.  Soldier  !  imagine  thou  wert  doomed  to  die  a  cruel 
death,  in  a  strange  land.  What  would  be  thy  last  request? 

Sen.  That  some  of  my  comrades  should  carry  my  dying 
blessing  to  my  wife  and  children. 

Rol.  Oh!  but  if  that  comrade  were  at  thy  prison  gate, 
and  should  there  be  told,  thy  fellow  soldier  dies  at  sunrise, 
yet  thou  shalt  not,  for  a  moment,  see  him,  nor  shalt  thou 
bear  his  dying  blessing  to  his  poor  children,  or  his  wretched 
wife,  what  wouldst  thou  think  of  him  who  thus  could  drive 
thy  comrade  from  the  door? 

Sen.     How  ? 

Rol.  Alonzo  has  a  wife  and  child.  I  am  come  to  receive 
for  her,  and  for  her  babe,  the  last  blessing  of  my  friend. 

Sen.     Go  in.     (Exit.) 

Rol.  Oh !  holy  Nature !  thou  dost  never  plead  in  vain. 
There  is  not,  of  our  earth,  a  creature  bearing  form  and  life, 
human  or  savage,  native  of  the  forest  ..wild,  or  giddy  air, 
around  whose  parent  bosom  thou  hast  not  a  chord  entwined 
of  power  to  tie  them  to  their  offspring's  claims,  and,  at  thy 
will,  to  draw  them  back  to  thee.  On  iron  pinions  borne, 
the  blood-stained  vulture  cleaves  the  storm,  yet  is  the 
plumage  closest  to  her  breast  soft  as  the  cygnet's  down, 
and  o'er  her  unshelled  brood  the  murmuring  ring-dove  sits 
not  more  gently.  Yes,  now  he  is  beyond  the  porch,  barring 
the  outer  gate!  Alonzo!  Alonzo!  my  friend;  ah!  in 
gentle  sleep  !  Alonzo  !  rise  ! 

(Alonzo  enters.) 

Alonzo.  How?  Is  my  hour  elapsed?  Well,  I  am 
ready. 

Rol.    Alonzo  !  know  me. 

Al.      What  voice  is  that? 

Rol.    'Tis  Holla's. 

Al.  Holla!  my  friend  !  Heavens!  how  couldst  ,thou 
pass  the  guard?  Did  this  habit — 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  219 

Rol.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost  in  words :  this 
disguise  I  tore  from  the  dead  body  of  a  friar,  as  I  passed 
our  field  of  battle  ;  it  has  gained  me  entrance  to  thy  dun- 
geon ;  now,  take  it,  thou,  and  fly. 

Al.      And  Rolla— 

Rol.    Will  remain,  here  in  thy  place. 

AL  And  die  for  me  ?  No !  Rather  eternal  tortures 
rack  me. 

Rol.  I  shall  not  die,  Alonzo.  It  is  thy  life  Pizarro 
seeks,  not  Rolla' s;  and  from  my  prison  soon  will  thy  arm 
deliver  me ;  or,  should  it  be  otherwise,  I  am  as  a  blighted 
plantain,  standing  alone  amid  the  sandy  desert.  Nothing 
seeks  or  lives  beneath  my  shelter.  Thou  art — a  husband 
and  a  father — the  being  of  a  lovely  wife  and  helpless  infant 
hangs  upon  thy  life.  Go  !  go,  Alonzo  !  Go,  to  save,  not 
thyself,  but  Cora  and  thy  child! 

AL  Urge  me  not  thus,  my  friend.  I  had  prepared  to 
die  in  peace. 

Rol.  To  die  in  peace !  devoting  her  thou  hast  sworn  to 
live  for,  to  madness,  misery,  and  death?  For,  be  assured, 
the  state  I  left  her  in  forbids  all  hope,  but  from  thy  quick 
return. 

AL      Merciful  heavens ! 

Rol.  If  thou  art  yet  irresolute,  Alonzo,  now  heed  me 
well.  I  think  thou  hast  not  known  that  Rolla  ever  pledged 
his  word,  and  shrunk  from  its  fulfillment.  If  thou  art 
proudly  obstinate  to  deny  thy  friend  the  transport  of  pre- 
serving Cora's  life  in  thee,  no  power  that  sways  the  will 
of  man  shall  stir  me  hence;  and  thou 'It  but  have  the  des- 
perate triumph  of  seeing  Rolla  perish  by  thy  side,  with  the 
assured  conviction  that  Cora  and  thy  child  are  lost  forever. 

AL      Oh,  Rolla! 

Rol.  Begone.  The  dawn  approaches.  Fear  not  for  me. 
I  will  treat  with  Pizarro,  as  for  surrender  and  submission. 
I  snail  gain  time,  no  doubt,  while  thou,  with  a  chosen 
band,  passing  the  secret  way,  mayest,  at  night,  return,  re- 
lease thy  friend,  and  bear  him  back  in  triumph.  Yes, 
hasten,  dear  Alonzo !  Even  now,  I  hear  thy  frantic  wife, 
poor  Cora,  call  thee !  Haste,  Alonzo  !  Haste  !  Haste ! 


220  MCQUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

Al.  Holla !  you  distract  me.  Wear  you  the  robe,  and, 
though  dreadful  the  necessity,  we  will  strike  down  the 
guard,  and  force  our  passage. 

Rol.    What,  the  soldier  on  duty  here  ? 

AL  Yes,  else,  seeing  two,  the  alarm  will  be  instant 
death. 

Rol.  For  my  nation's  safety,  I  would  not  harm  him. 
That  soldier,  mark  me,  is  a  man !  All  are  not  men  that 
wear  the  human  form.  He  refused  my  prayers,  refused  my 
gold,  denying  admittance,  till  his  own  feelings  bribed  him. 
I  would  not  risk  a  hair  of  that  man's  head,  to  save  my 
heart-strings  from  consuming  fire.  But  haste !  A  mo- 
ment's further  pause,  and  all  is  lost. 

AL  Rolla,  I  fear  thy  friendship  drives  me  from  honor, 
and  from  right. 

Rol.    Did  Rolla  ever  counsel  dishonor  to  his  friend? 

Al.      Oh  !  my  preserver  1 

Rol.  I  feel  thy  warm  tears  dropping  on  my  cheek.  Go! 
I  am  rewarded.  (Throwing  a  friar's  garment  over  Alonzo.} 
There,  conceal  thy  face ;  and  that  they  may  not  clank,  hold 
fast  thy  chains.  Now,  God  be  with  thee  ! 

AL  At  night  we  meet  again.  Then,  so  aid  me  Heaven! 
I  return  to  save,  or  perish  with  thee !  (Exit.} 

Rol.  He  has  passed  the  outer  porch  !  he  is  safe  !  he  will 
soon  embrace  his  wife  and  child!  Now,  Cora,  didst  thou 
not  wrong  me?  This  is  the  first  time,  throughout  my 
life,  I  ever  deceived  man.  Forgive  me,  God  of  Truth !  if 
I  am  wrong.  Alonzo  flatters  himself  that  we  shall  meet 
again  !  Yes,  there !  (Lifting  his  handjs  to  heaven.^)  As- 
suredly we  shall  meet  again  ;  there,  possess  in  peace  the 
joys  of  everlasting  love  and  friendship. 

FROM  SHERIDAN. 


CXIX.— THE  INDIANS, 

THERE  is,  in  the  fate  of  the  unfortunate  Indians,  much 
to  awaken  our  sympathy,  and  much  to  disturb  the  sobriety 
of  our  judgment ;  much  which  may  be  urged  to  excuse 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  221 

their  own  atrocities ;  much  in  their  characters  which  be- 
trays us  into  an  involuntary  admiration.  What  can  be 
more  melancholy  than  their  history?  By  a  law  of  their 
nature  they  seein  destined  to  a  slow,  but  sure  extinction. 
Everywhere,  at  the  approach  of  the  white  man.  they  fade 
away.  \  We  hear  the  rustling  of  their  footsteps,  like  that 
of  the  withered  leaves  of  autumn,  and  they  are  gone  for- 
ever. They  pass  mournfully  by  us,  and  they  return  no 
more. 

Two  centuries  ago,  the  smoke  of  their  wigwams  and  the 
fires  of  their  councils,  rose  in  every  valley,  from  Hudson's 
Bay  to  the  farthest  Florida,  from  the  ocean  to  the  Missis- 
sippi  and  the  lakes.  The  shouts  of  victory  and  the  war- 
dance,  rung  through  the  mountains  and  the  glades.  The 
thick  arrows  and  the  deadly  tomahawk,  whistled  through 
the  forests;  and  the  hunter's  trace  and  the  dark  encamp- 
ment,  startled  the  wild  beasts  in  their  lairs.  The  warriors 
stood  forth  in  their  glory.  The  young  listened  to  the  songs 
of  other  days.  The  mothers  played  with  their  infants,  and 
gazed  on  the  scene  with  warm  hopes  of  the  future.  Braver 
men  never  lived;  truer  men  never  drew  the  bow.  They 
had  courage,  and  fortitude,  and  sagacity,  and  perseverance, 
beyond  most  of  the  human  race.  They  shrunk  from  no 
dangers,  and  they  feared  no  hardships. 

But  where  are  they?  Where  are  the  villages,  and  war- 
riors, and  youth  ?  the  sachems  and  the  tribes  ?  the  hunters 
and  their^jamilies  ?  They  have  perished.  They  are  con- 
sumed. S  The  wasting  pestilence  has  not  alone  done  the 
mighty,  work,  No;  nor  fetnine,  nqr  war.  /There  has  been 
a  mightier  power,  \i  nroral  canker,  Vwhicli  hath  eaten  into 
their  heart-cores  ixtrrolague,  which  Aie  touch  of  the  white 
man  communifeffed ;  «.  poison,  which) betrayed  them  into  a 
lingering  ruin.y 

The  winds  of  the  Atlantic  fan  not  a  single  region  which 
they  may  now  call  their  own.  Already  the  last  feeble 
remnants  of  the  race  are  preparing  for  their  journey  be- 
yond the  Mississippi.  I  see  them  leave  their  miserable 
homes,  the  aged,  the  helpless,  the  women,  and  the  warriors, 
"few  and  faint,  yet  fearless  still."  The  ashes  are  cold  on 


222  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

their  native  hearths.  The  smoke  no  longer  curls  around 
their  lowly  cabins.  They  move  on  with  a  slow,  unsteady 
step.  The  white  man  is  upon  their  heels,  for  terror  or 
dispatch ;  but  they  heed  him  not.  They  turn  to  take  a 
last  look  of  their  deserted  villages.  They  cast  a  last  glance 
upon  the  graves  of  their  fathers.  They  shed  no  tears ; 
they  utter  no  cries ;  they  heave  no  groans. 

There  is  something  in  their  hearts  which  passes  speech. 
There  is  something  in  their  looks,  not  of  vengeance  nor 
submission,  but  of  hard  necessity,  which  stifles  both ; 
which  chokes  all  utterance  ;  which  has  no  aim  nor  method. 
It  is  courage  absorbed  in  despair.  They  linger  but.  for  a 
moment.  Their  look  is  onward.  They  have  passed  the 
fatal  stream.  It  shall  never  be  repassed  by  them;  no, 
never.  Yet  there  lies  not  between  us  and  them  an  impas- 
sable gulf.  They  know,  and  'feel,  that  there  is  for  them 
still  one  remove  further,  not  distant,  nor  unseen.  It  is  to 

the  general  burial-ground  of  their  race. 

FROM  STORY. 


CXX.— THE  INDIAN'S  BURIAL  PLACE. 

IT  is  the  spot  I  came  to  seek, 
My  fathers'  ancient  burial-place, 

Ere,  from  these  vales,  ashamed  and  weak, 
Withdrew  our  wasted  race. 

It  is  the  spot,  I  know  it  well, 

Of  which  our  old  traditions  tell. 

A  white  man,  gazing  on  the  scene, 
Would  say,  a  lovely  spot  is  here, 

And  praise  the  lawns,  so  fresh  and  green, 
Between  the  hills  so  sheer. 

I  like  it  not;  I  would  the  plain 

Lay  in  its  tall  old  groves  again. 

The  sheep  are  on  the  slopes  around, 
The  cattle  in  the  meadows  feed; 

And  laborers  turn  the  crumbling  ground, 
Or  drop  the  yellow  seed; 

And  prancing  steeds,  in  trappings  gay, 

Whirl  the  bright  chariot  o'er  the  way. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  223 

Methinks  it  were  a  nobler  sight 

To  see  these  vales  in  woods  arrayedr 
Their  summits  in  the  golden  light, 

Their  trunks  in  grateful  shade, 
And  herds  of  deer,  that  bounding  go 
O'er  rills  and  prostrate  trees  below. 

And  then  to  mark  the  lord  of  all, 

The  forest  hero,  trained  to  wars, 
Quivered  and  plumed,  and  lithe  and  tall, 

And  seamed  with  glorious  scars, 
Walk  forth,  amid  his  reign,  £o  dare 
The  wolf,  and  grapple  with  the  bear. 

This  bank,  in  which  the  dead  were  laid, 

Was  sacred  when  its  soil  was  ours : 
Hither  the  artless  Indian  maid 

Brought,  wreaths  of  beads  and  flowers. 
And  the  gray  chief  and  gifted  seer 
Worshiped  the  god  of  thunders  here. 

But  now  the  wheat  is  green  and  high 
On  clods  that  hide  the  warrior's  breast- 

And,  scattered,  in  the  furrows,  lie 
The  weapons  of  his  rest; 

And  there,  in  the  loose  sand,  is  thrown 

Of  his  large  arm  the  moldering  bone. 

Ah !  little  thought  the  strong  and  bravo, 
Who  bore  their  lifeless  chieftain  forth ; 

Or  the  young  wife,  that  weepiiig  gave 
Her  first-born  to  the  earth, 

That  the  pale  race,  who  waste  us  now. 

Among  their  bones  should  guide  the  plow ! 

They  waste  us :  ay,  like  April  snow 

In  the  warm  noon,  we  shrink  away ; 
And  fast  they  follow,  as  wre  go 

Toward  the  setting  day, 
Till  they  shall  fill  the  land,  and  we 
Are  driven  into  the  western  sea. 

FROM  BRYANT. 


224  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 


CXXI— THE  DEFIANCE. 

WHITE  man,  there  is  eternal  war  between  me  and  thee ! 
I  quit  not  the  land  of  my  fathers  but  with  my  life.  In 
those  woods  where  I  bent  my  youthful  bow,  I  will  still  hunt 
the  deer.  Over  yonder  waters  I  will  still  glide,  unrestrained, 
in  my  bark  canoe.  By  those  dashing  waterfalls  I  will  still 
lay  up  my  winter's  store  of  food.  On  these  fertile  mea- 
dows I  will  still  plant  my  corn.  Stranger,  the  land  is 
mine.  I  understand  not  these  paper  rights.  I  gave  not 
my  consent  when,  as  thou  sayest,  these  broad  regions  were 
purchased,  for  a  few  baubles,  of  my  fathers.  They  could 
sell  what  was  theirs.  They  could  sell  no  more.  How 
could  my  fathers  sell  that,  which  the  Great  Spirit  sent  me 
into  the  world  to  live  upon?  They  knew  not  what  they 
did. 

The  stranger  came,  a  timid  suppliant,  few  and  feeble, 
and  asked  to  lie  down  on  the  red  man's  bear-skin,  and 
warm  himself  at  the  red  man's  fire,  and  have  a  little  piece 
of  land  to  raise  corn  for  his  women  and  children.  Now 
he  is  become  strong,  and  mighty,  and  bold,  and  spreads 
out  his  parchment  over  the  whole,  and  says.  It  is  mine. 
Stranger,  there  is  not  room  for  us  both.  The  Great  Spirit 
has  not  made  us  to  live  together.  There  is  poison  in  the 
white  man's  cup.  The  white  man's  dog  barks  at  the  red 
man's  heels. 

If  I  should  leave  the  land  of  my  fathers,  whither  shall 
I  fly?  Shall  I  go  to  the  South,  and  dwell  among  the 
graves  of  the  Pequots?  Shall  I  wander  to  the  West? 
The  fierce  Mohawk,  the  man-eater,  is  my  foe.  Shall  I  fly 
to  the  East?  The  great  water  is  before  me.  No,  stranger. 
Here  I  have  lived,  and  here  will  I  die.!  and  if  here  thou 
abidest,  there  is  eternal  war  between  me  and  thee.  Thou 
hast  taught  me  thy  arts  of  destruction.  For  that  alone  I 
thank  thee.  And  now  take  heed  to  thy  steps.  The  red 
man  is  thy  foe. 

When  thou  goest  forth  by  day,  my  bullet  shall  whistle 
by  thee.  When  thou  liest  down  at  night,  my  knife  is  at 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  225 

thy  throat.  The  noonday  sun  shall  not  discover  thy  enemy, 
and  the  darkness  of  midnight  shall  not  protect  thy  rest. 
Thou  shalt  plant  in  terror,  and  I  will  reap  in  blood.  Thou 
shalt  sow  the  earth  with  corn,  and  I  will  strew  it  with 
ashes.  Thou  shalt  go  forth  with  the  sickle,  and  I  will  fol- 
low after  with  the  scalping-knife.  Thou  shalt  build,  and 
I  will  burn,  till  the  white  man  or  the  Indian  shall  cease 
from  the  land.  Remember,  stranger,  there  is  eternal  war 
between  me  and  thee  ! 


CXXIL— THE  SEMINOLE. 

BLAZE,  with  yonr  serried  columns !     I  will  not  bend  the  knee  ; 
The  shackle  ne'er  again  shall  bind  the  arm  which  now  is  free! 
I've  mailed  it  with  the  thunder,  when  the  tempest  mattered  low; 
And  where  it  falls,  ye  well  may  dread  the  lightning  of  its  blow. 
I've  scared  you  in  the  city;  I've  scalped  you  on  the  plain; 
Go,  count  your  chosen,  where  they  fell  beneath  my  leaden  rain  ! 
I  scorn  your  proffered  treaty ;  the  pale-face  I  defy ; 
Revenge  is  stamped  upon  my  spear,,  and  "  blaod  "  my  battle-cry ! 

Some  strike  for  hope  of  booty ;  some  to  defend  their  all ; 

/  battle  for  the  joy  I  have  to  see  the  white  man  fall. 

I  love,  among  the  wounded,  to  hear  his  dying  moan, 

And  catch,  while  chanting  at  his  side,  the  music  of  his  groan. 

Ye've  trailed  me  through  the  forest;  ye've  tracked  me  o'er  the 

stream  ; 
And,  struggling  through  the   everglade,  your  bristling  bayonets 

gleam. 

But  I  stand  as  should  the  warrior,  with  his  rifle  and  his  spear; 
The  scalp  of  vengeance  still  is  red,  and  warns  you,  "  Come  not 

here!" 

Think  ye  to  find  my  homestead  ?     I  gave  it  to  the  fire. 
My  tawny  household  do  ye  seek  ?    I  am  a  childless  sire. 
But,  should  ye  crave  life's  nourishment  enough  I  have,  and  good; 
I  live  on  hate;  'tis  all  my  bread;  yet  light  is  not  my  food. 
I  loathe  you  with  my  bosom !  I  scorn  you  with  mine  eye ! 
And  I'll  taunt  you  with  my  latest  breath,  and  fight  you  till  I  die! 
I  ne'er  will  ask  for  quarter,  and  I  ne'er  will  be  your  slave; 
But  I  '11  swim  the  sea  of  slaughter  till  I  sink  beneath  the  wave ! 


226  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXXI1L— GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  "Gertrude  of  Wyoming,"  a  poem  which  has 
immortalized  the  name  of  Campbell.  Gertrude,  her  father  Albert,  and 
her  husband  Henry  Waldegrave,  were  forced,  by  the  approach  of  hos- 
tile Indians,  to  leave  their  home  in  the  valley,  and  take  refuge  in  a 
neighboring  fort.  While  they  are  viewing  from  the  battlement  their 
recent  home  and  its  surrounding  scenery,  Albert  receives  a  mortal 
shot  from  an  Indian  in  ambush,  and  Gertrude,  while  clasping  him,  re- 
ceives another. 

BUT  short  that  contemplation!  sad  and  short 
The  pause,  to  bid  each  inuch-loved  scene  adieu ! 

Beneath  the  very  shadow  of  the  fort, 

Where  friendly  swords  were  drawn,  and  banners  flew, 
Ah !  who  could  deem  that  foot  of  Indian  crew 

Was  near?     Yet  there,  with  lust  of  murderous  deeds, 
Gleamed  like  a  basilisk,  from  woods  in  view, 

The  ambushed  foeman's  eye;  his  volley  speeds, 

And  Albert,  Albert,  falls!  the  dear  old  father  bleeds. 

And,  tranced  in  giddy  horror,  Gertrude  swooned; 

Yet,  while  she  clasps  him  lifeless  to  her  zone, 
Say,  burst  they,  borrowed  from  her  father's  wound, 

These  drops  ?    O  God !  the  life-blood  is  her  own ; 

And  faltering,  on  her  Waldegrave' s  bosom  thrown, 

"Weep  not,  O  Love!"  she  cries,  "to  see  me  bleed! 

Thee,  Gertrude's  sad  survivor,  thee  alone ! 
Heaven's  peace  commiserate ;  for  scarce  I  heed 
These  wounds;  yet  thee  to  leave  is  death,  is  death  indeed. 

"Clasp  me  a  little  longer,  on  the  brink 
Of  fate  1  while  I  can  feel  thy  dear  caress ; 

And,  when  this  heart  hath  ceased  to  beat,  0!  think, 
And  let  it  mitigate  thy  woe's  excess, 
That  thou  hast  been  to  me  all  tenderness, 

A  friend,  to  more  than  human  friendship  just. 
O !  by  that  retrospect  of  happiness, 

And  by  the  hopes  of  an  immortal  trust, 

God  shall  assuage  thy  pangs,  when  I  am  laid  in  dust! 

"Go,  Henry,  go  not  back,  when  I  depart; 

The  scene  thy  bursting  tears  too  deep  will  move, 

Where  my  dear  father  took  thee  to  his  heart. 
And  Gertrude  thought  it  ecstasy  to  rove 
With  thee,  as  with  an  angel,  through  the  grove 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  227 

Of  peace ;  imagining  her  lot  was  cast 
•  In  heaven ;  for  ours  was  not  like  earthly  love : 
And  must  this  parting  be  our  very  last  ? 
No !  I  shall  love  thee  still,  when  death  itself  is  past." 

Hushed  were  his  Gertrude's  lips!  but  still  their  bland 

And  beautiful  expression  seemed  to  melt 
With  love,  that  could  not  die!  and  still  his  hand 

She  presses  to  the  heart,  no  more  that  felt. 

Ah,  heart !  where  once  each  fond  affection  dwelt, 
And  features  yet  that  spoke  a  soul  more  fair. 

Mute,  gazing,  agonizing  as  he  knelt, 
Of  them  that  stood  encircling  his  despair, 
He  heard  some  friendly  words ;  but  knew  not  what  they  were. 
•  FROM  CAMPBELL. 


CXXIV.— OUTALISSI. 

IN  this  extract  from  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  Outalissi.  a  friendly 
Indian  chief,  expresses  his  sympathy  fbr  Waldegrave,  and  his  own 
determination  to  seek  vengeance. 

AREOUSKI;  an  imaginary  Indian  Deity. 

"AND  I  could  weep;"  th'  Oneida  chief 

His  descant  wildly  thus  begun; 

"But  that  I  may  not  stain  with  grief 

The  death-song  of  my  father's  son, 

Or  bow  his  head  in  woe ; 

For,  by  my  wrongs,  and  by  my  wrath ! 

To-morrow  Areouski's  breath 

(That  fires  yon  heaven  with  storms  of  death,) 

Shall  light  us  to  the  foe : 

And  we  shall  share,  my  Christian  boy  ! 

The  foeman's  blood,  the  avenger's  joy. 

"  But  thee,  my  flower,  whose  breath  was  given 

By  milder  genii  o'er  the  deep, 

The  Spirit  of  the  whito  man's  heaven 

Forbids  not  thee  to  weep: 

Nor  will  the  Christian  host, 

Nor  will  thy  father's  spirit  grieve 

To  see  thee,  on  the  battle's  eve, 

Lamenting,  take  a  mournful  leave 

Of  her  who  loved  thee  most. 


228  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

She  was  the  rainbow  to  thy  sight! 
Thy  sun :  thy  heaven  of  lost  delight ! 

"  To-morrow,  let  us  do  or  die ! 

But  when  the  bolt  of  death  is  hurled, 

Ah !  whither  then  with  thee  to  fly, 

Shall  Outalissi  roam  the  world? 

Seek  we  thy  once-loved  home? 

The  hand  is  gone  that  cropt  its  flowers : 

Unheard  their  clock  repeats  its  hours ! 

Cold  is  the  earth  within  their  bowers, 

And,  should  we  thither  roam, 

Its  echoes  and  its  empty  tread 

Would  sound  like  voices  from  the  dead ! 

"Or  shall  we  cross  yon  mountains  blue, 

Whose  streams  my  kindred  nation  quaffed; 

And,  by  my  side,  in  battle  true, 

A  thousand  warriors  drew  the  shaft  ? 

Ah!  there,  in  desolation  cold, 

The  desert  serpent  dwells  alone, 

Where  grass  o'ergrows  each  moldering  bone 

And  stones  themselves  to  ruin  grown, 

Like  me,  are  death-like  old; 

Then  seek  we  not  their  camp;  for  there 

The  silence  dwells  of  my  despair ! 

"But  hark  the  trump!     To-morrow,  thou 
In  glory's  fires  shalt  dry  thy  tears; 
'E'en  from  the  land  of  shadows  now 
My  father's  awful  ghost  appears, 
Amid  the  clouds  that  round  us  roll; 
He  bids  my  soul  for  battle  thirst: 
He  bids  me  dry  the  last — the  first — 
The  only  tears  that  ever  burst 
From  Outalissi' s  soul ; 
Because  I  may  not  stain  with  grief 
The  death-song  of  an  Indian  chief." 
FROM  CAMPBELL. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  229 


CXXV.— SCENE  FROM  PAUL  PRY. 

CHARACTERS. —  Tankard,  the  landlord;  Billy,  his  attendant;  Mr,  Old- 
button,  a  lodger ;  and  Paul  Pry. 

(Enter  Tankard  and  Billy.) 

Tankard.  Now,  Billy,  as  this  is  the  first  week  of  your 
service,  you -must  stir  about  your  look  well  to  the  customers, 
and  see  they  want  nothing. 

Billy.  I  warrant  me,  sir,  Though  the  folks  say  I  look 
harmless,  I  'm  sharp.  I  carry  my  wits  about  me  in  a  case, 
as  my  grandmother  carries  her  scissors ;  but,  sir,  when  I 
like,  I  can  draw  and  cut,  I  assure  you, 

Tan.  Well,  this  is  to  be  proved.  Now  you  know  what 
you  have  to  do,  to-day. 

BiL  First,  there  's  to  attend  to  Captain  Hawkesley,  in 
the  blue  room ;  he  that  locks  himself  up  all  the  day.  and 
only  comes  out  with  the  stars.  Then,  there's  to  look  to 
fire-works,  when  the  company  arrives.  Then,  there's  to 
get  ready  the  room  you  call  the  Elephant,  for  Mr.  Oldbut- 
ton,  and — and  the  last  of  all — • 

Tan.    To  get  rid  of  that  impudent  Paul  Pry. 

Bit.     I'll  do  it,  sir. 

Tan.  Will  you?  'Tis  more  than  /  can.  I  have  only 
taken  this  inn  six  months,  and  he  's  been  here  every  day. 
First,  he  asked  me  where  I  got  the  money  to  take  the 
house;  then,  if  I  was  married;  whether  my  wife  bore  an 
excellent  character;  whether  my  children  had  had  the 
measles  ;  and,  as  I  would  n't  answer  any  of  these  questions, 
he  hoped  he  didn't  intrude,  but  begged  to  know  how  many 
lumps  of  sugar  I  put  into  a  crown  bowl  of  punch.  - 

BiL  Oh!  sir,  that's  nothing  to  what  he  asked  me  last 
night.  He  asked  me  whether  you  gave  me  good  wages. 

Tan.    Well,  I  hope  you  gave  him  an  answer. 

BiL     Yes,  I  did,  sir. 

Tan.    What  did  you  say  ? 

BiL  Why,  I  told  him  my  wages  were  like  his  good 
manners ;  very  little  of  'em,  but  I  hoped  they  would  both 
soon  mend. 


230  MCGUFFEY'  S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

Tan.  Well,  Billy,  only  rid.  me  of  this  intolerable  Paul, 
and  your  wages  shall  mend.  Here  has  this  Mr.  Pry, 
although  he  has  an  establishment  of  his  own  in  the 
town,  been  living  and  sleeping  these  six  days!  But  I'm 
determined  to  get  rid  of  him  ;  and  do  you  instantly  go, 
Billy,  and  affront  him.  Do  any  thing  with  him,  so  as  you 
make  him  turn  his  back  upon  the  house.  Eh,  here's  a 
coach  driven  up  ;  it  is  surely  Mr.  Oldbutton  ;  run,  Billy, 
run.  (Exit  Billy.*)  Roaring  times,  these.  (Billy  enters, 
showing  in  Mr.  Oldbutton.}  Welcome,  sir,  most  welcome  to 
the  Golden  Chariot. 

Mr.  Oldbutton.  Landlord,  I  have  some  letters  to  answer. 
Which  is  my  apartment? 

Tan.  Why,  sir;  confound-  that  Paul  Pry,  he  has  the 
gentleman's  room,  and  I  can't  get  him  out  of  it.  Why, 
sir,  I  did  not  expect  you  some  hours  yet.  If  you  '11  have 
the  kindness  to  step  into  this  apartment  for  a  few  minutes, 
your  own  room  shall  be  properly  arranged.  I  really  beg 
ten  thousand — 

Mr.  Old.  No  compliments,  Mr.  Landlord,  and  when  you 
speak  to  me  in  future,  keep  yourself  upright ;  I  hate  trades- 
men, with  backs  of  whalebone. 

Tan.     Why,  civility,  Mr.  Oldbutton — 

Mr.  Old.  Is  this  the  room?  (Tankard  bows.  Exit  Old- 
button.') 

Tan.  Now,  such  a  customer  would  deeply  offend  a  man, 
if  he  had  not  the  ultimate  satisfaction  of  making  out  the 
bill. 

(Enter  Billy.') 

Oh,  you've  just  come  in  time  :  ask  no  questions;  there's 
Mr.  Pry's  room.  If  you  get  him  out  of  the  house,  I'll 
raise  your  wages.  If  you  do  not,  you  shall  go  yourself. 
Now  you  know  the  terms.  (Exit.) 

Bil.  Then  it  is  either  you  or  myself,  Mr.  Pry.  So 
here  goes.  (As  Billy  is  running  toward  the  room,  he  meets 
fry  coming.} 

Paul  Pry.  Hope  I  don't  intrude.  I  say,  Billy,  who 
is  that  old  gentleman,  who  just  came  in? 

Bil.      Old  gentleman?     Why.  there's  nobody  come  in. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  231 

Paul.  Don't  fib,  Billy,  I  saw  him. 

Bil.  You  saw  him !  Why,  how  could  you  see  him, 
when  there's  no  window  in  the  room? 

Paul.  I  always  guard  against  such  an  accident,  and  carry 
a  gimblet  with  me.'  (Producing  one.)  Nothing  like  making 
a  little  hole  in  the  wainscot. 

Bil.     Why,  surely  you  have  n't — 

Paul.  It  has  been  a  fixed  principle  of  my  life,  Billy, 
never  to  take  a  lodging  or  a  house,  with  a  brick  wall  to  it. 
I  say,  tell  me,  who  is  he  ? 

Bil-  (Aside.)  Well,  I'll  tell  him  something.  Why,  if 
you  must  know,  I  think  he's  an  army  lieutenant,  on  half- 

PaJ- 

Paul.  An  army  lieutenant !  half-pay  !  ah  !  that  will  never 
afford  ribbons  arid  white  feathers. 

Bil.  Now,  Mr.  Pry,  my  master  desires  me  to  say,  he 
can't  accommodate  you  any  longer.  Your  apartment  is 
wanted,  and,  really,  Mr.  Pry,  you  can't  think  how  much 
you'll  oblige  me  by  going. 

Paul.  To  be  sure,  Billy,  I  wouldn't  wish  to  intrude  for 
the  world.  Your  master  is  doing  a  great  deal  of  business 
in  this  house.  What  did  he  give  for  the  good  will  of  it  ? 

Tan.    ( Without.)     Billy. 

Bil.  There  now,  I'm  called,  and  I've  to  make  ready 
the  room  for  the  Freemasons,  that  meet  to-day,  they  that 
would  n't ^admit  you  into  their  society. 

Paul.  Yes,  I  know.     They  thought  I  should  intrude. 

Tan.    (Without.)     Billy! 

Bil.      Now  you  must  go.    Good  by,  Mr.  Pry,  I  'm  called. 

Paul.  Oh,  good  by,  good  morning.     (Exit.) 

Bil.      He  's  gone  !     I  'm  coming,  sir.     (Exit.) 
(Re-enter  Paul  Pry) 

Paul.  An  army  lieutenant !  Who  can  it  be  ?  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  it's  Mrs.  Thomas's  husband ;  who,  she  says, 
was  killed  in  India !  If  it  should  be,  it  will  break  off  her 
flirting  with  Mr.  Cinnamon,  the  grocer ;  there '»  pretty  do- 
ings in  that  quarter,  for  I  caught  the  rheumatism  watching 
them  in  a  frosty  night  last  winter !  An  army  lieutenant ! 
Mrs.  Thomas  has  a  daughter.  I'll  just  peep  through  the 


232  McGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

key-hole,  and  see  if  there's  a  family  likeness  between  them. 
(Mr.  OldLutton  suddenly  appears,  and  discovers  Paul.} 

Paul,  I  hope  I  don't  intrude;  I  was  trying  to  find  my 
apartment. 

Mr*  OlcL  Was  it  necessary  to  look  through  the  key-hole 
for  it,  sir ! 

Paul.  I  'm  rather  short-sighted,  sir.  Sad  affliction  !  my 
poor  mother  was  short-sighted,  sir;  in  fact,  'tis  a  family 
failing  j  all  the  Prys  are  obliged  to  look  close. 

Mr.  Old,  While  I  sympathize  with  your  distresses,  sir, 
I  trust  to  be  exempt  from  the  impertinence  which  you  may 
attach  to  them, 

Paul.  Would  not  intrude  for  the  world,  sir.  What 
may  be  your  opinion,  sir,  of  the  present  state  of  the  king- 
dom ?  How  do  you  like  peace?  It  must  press  hard  upon 
you  gentlemen  of  the  army ;  a  lieutenant's  half  pay  now, 
is  but  little,  to  make  both  ends  meet 

Mr.  Old.     Sir! 

Paul.  Especially  when  a  man's  benevolent  to  his  poor 
relations.  Now,  sir,  perhaps  you  allow  something  out  of 
your  five-and-six-pence  a  day,  to  your  mother,  or  maiden 
sister.  Between  you  and  me,  I  must  tell  you  what  I  have 
learnt  here. 

Mr.  Old.  Between  you  and  me,  sir,  I  must  tell  you 
what  I  have  learnt  in  India, 

Paul.  What,  have  you  been  in  India?  Wouldn't  in- 
trude an  observation  for  the  world ;  but  I  thought  you  had 
a  yellowish  look;  something  of  an  orange-peel  countenance. 
You've  been  in  India?  Although  I'm  a  single  man,  I 
wouldn't  ask  an  improper  question.  But  is  it  true  that 
the  blacks  employ  no  tailors  nor  milliners?  If  not,  what 
do  they  do  to  keep  off  the  flies? 

Mr.  Old.  That  is  what  I  was  about  to  inform  you. 
They  carry  canes.  Now,  sir,  five  minutes'  conversation 
with  you,  has  fully  convinced  me  that  there  are  flies  in 
England,  as  well  as  in  India ;  and  that  a  man  may  be  as 
impertinently  inquisitive  at  Dover,  as  at  Bengal.  All  I 
have  to  add  is,  I  carry  a  cane. 

Paul.     In   such  a  case,  I'm   the   last  to  intrude,     I've 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  233 

only  one  question  to  ask.  Is  your  name  Thomas?  whether 
you  have  a  wife  ?  how  old  she  is  ?  and  where  you  were 
married  ? 

Mr.  Old.  Well,  sir,  a  man  may  sometimes  play  with  a 
puppy,  as  well  as  kick  him  j  and,  if  it  will  afford  you  any 
satisfaction,  learn  my  name  is  Thomas. 

Paul.  Oh !  poor  Mr.  Cinnamon !  This  is  going  to 
India  !  Mr.  T.,  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  find  that  somebody  here 
has  intruded  in  your  place,  for  between  you  and  me,  (Old- 
button  surveys  liiin  contemptuously,  and,  while  Paul  is  talking, 
Oldbutton  stalks  off.  Paul,  on  looking  round.)  Well,  it  is  n't 
that  I  interfere  much  in  people's  concerns.  If  I  did.  how 
unhappy  I  could  make  that  man.  This  Freemason's  sign 
puzzles  me ;  they  would  n't  make  me  a  member ;  but  I 
have  slept  six  nights  in  the  next  room  to  them ;  and, 
thanks  to  my  gimblet,  I  know  the  business.  There  was 
Mr.  Smith,  who  was  only  in  the  Gazette  last  week,  taking 
his  brandy  and  water ;  he  can't  afford  that,  I  know.  Then 
there  was  Mr,  Hodgkins,  who  makes  his  poor  wife  and 
children  live  upon  baked  potatoes  six  days  out  of  the 
week,  (for  I  know  the  shop  where  they  are  cooked,)  call- 
ing, like  a  lord,  for  a  Welch  rarebit.  I  only  wish  his 
creditors  could  see  him!  but  I  don't  trouble  my  head 
with  these  matters  ;  if  I  did — eh !  Why  there  is  one  of 
the  young  Joneses,  going  again  to  Mr.  Notick,  the  pawn- 
broker's. That's  the  third  time  this  week;  well,  I've  just 
time  to  run  to  Notick's,  and  see  what  he's  brought,  before 
I  go  to  inquire  at  the  post  office,  who  in  the  town  has 
letters.  (Exit.)  FROM  POOLH. 


NEW  EC.  S.— 20 


234  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXXVI.— TAXES. 

IN  this  extract,  the  oppressive  taxation  of  England  (John  Bull)  is 
satirically  described,  and  America  (Jonathan)  is  warned  against 
following  the  example. 

ERMINE  ;  the  fur  which  judges  wear. 

COUCHANT;  lying  down. 

LEVANT;  here,  sitting. 

JOHN  BULL  can  inform  Jonathan  what  are  the  inevita- 
ble consequences  of  being  too  fond  of  Glory :  TAXES  ! 
Taxes  upon  every  article  which  enters  into  the  mouth,  or 
covers  the  back,  or  is  placed  under  the  foot;  taxes  upon 
everything  which  is  pleasant  to  see,  hear,  feel,  smell,  or  taste; 
taxes  upon  warmth,  light,  and  locomotion ;  taxes  on  every- 
thing on  earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth;  on  every- 
thing that  comes  from  abroad,  or  is  grown  at  home ;  taxes 
on  the  raw  material ;  taxes  on .  every  fresh  value  that  is 
added  to  it  by  the  industry  of  man ;  taxes  on  the  sauce 
which  pampers  man's  appetite,  and  the  drug  that  restores 
him  to  health  ;  on  the  ermine  which  decorates  the  Judge, 
and  the  rope  which  hangs  the  criminal ;  on  the  poor  man's 
salt,  and  the  rich  man's  spice ;  on  the  brass  nails  of  the 
coffin,  and  the  ribbons  of  the  bride ;  at  bed  or  board,  couch- 
ant  or  levant,  we  must  pay. 

The  school-boy  whips  his  taxed  top.  The  beardless 
youth  manages  his  taxed  horse,  with  a  taxed  bridle,  on  a 
taxed  road.  The  dying  Englishman,  pouring  his  medicine, 
which  has  paid  seven  per  cent.,  into  a  spoon  that  has  paid 
fifteen  per  cent.,  flings  himself  back  upon  his  chintz-bed, 
which  has  paid  twenty-two  per  cent.,  makes  his  will  on  an 
eight-pound  stamp,  and  expires  in  the  arms  of  an  apothe- 
cary, who  nas  paid  a  license  of  a  hundred  pounds  for  the 
privilege  of  putting  him  to  death.  His  whole  property  is 
then  immediately  taxed  from  two  to  ten  per  cent.  Besides 
the  probate,  large  fees  are  demanded  for  burying  him  in 
the  chancel.  His  virtues  are  handed  down  to  posterity  on 
taxed  marble;  and  he  is  then  gathered  to  his  fathers, — to 
be  taxed  no  more. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  235 

In  addition  to  all  this,  the  habit  of  dealing  -with  large 
sums  will  make  the  government  avaricious  and  profuse. 
The  system  itself  will  infallibly  generate  the  base  vermin 
of  spies  and  informers,  and  a  still  more  pestilent  race  of 
political  tools  and  retainers  of  the  meanest  and  most  odious 
description.  The  prodigious  patronage  which  the  collect- 
ing of  this  splendid  revenue  will  throw  into  the  hands  of 
government  will  invest  it  with  so  vast  an  influence,  and  hold 
out  such  means  and  temptations  to  corruption,  as  all  the 
virtue  and  public  spirit,  even  of  republicans,  will  be  unable 
to  resist.  Every  wise  Jonathan  should  remember  this ! 

FROM  SYDNEY  SMITH. 


GXXVIL— A  POLITICAL  CONVERSION. 

AN  important  political  personage,  having  suddenly  changed  his 
course  with  regard  to  an  important  measure,  his  conversion  is  ex- 
quisitely satirized  by  Webster,  in  the  following  extract. 

PUBLIC  men  must  certainly  be  allowed  to  change  their 
opinions,  and  their  associations,  whenever  they  see  fit.  No 
one  doubts  this.  Men  may  have  grown  wiser,  they  may 
have  attained  to  better  and  more  correct  views  of  great 
public  subjects.  Nevertheless,  it  must  be  acknowledged, 
that  what  appears  to  be  a  sudden,  as  well  as  a  great  change, 
naturally  produces  a  s^ock.  I  confess,  for  one,  I  was 
shocked,  when  the  honorable  gentleman,  at  the  last  session, 
espoused  this  bill  of  the  administration.  Sudden  move- 
ments of  the  affections,  whether  personal  or  political,  are 
&  little  out  of  nature. 

Several  years  ago,  some  of  the  wits  of  England  wrote  a 
mock  play,  intended  to  ridicule  the  unnatural  and  false 
feeling,  the  sentimentality,  of  a  certain  German  school  of 
literature.  In  this  play,  two  strangers  are  brought  to- 
gether at  an  inn.  "While  they  are  warming  themselves  at 
the  fire,  and  before  their  acquaintance  is  yet  five  minutes 
old,  one  springs  up,  and  exclaims  to  the  other,  "  A  sudden 
thought  strikes  me  !  Let  us  swear  an  eternal  friendship !" 

This  affectionate  offer  was  instantly  accepted,  and  the 
friendship  duly  sworn,  unchangeable  and  eternal !  Now, 


236  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

how  long  this  eternal  friendship  lasted,  or  in  what  manner 
it  ended,  those  ^who  wish  to  know,  may  learn  by  referring 
to  the  play.  But  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  honorable  mem- 
ber has  carried  his  political  sentimentality  a  good  deal 
higher  than  the  flight  of  the  German  school.  He  appears 
to  have  fallen  suddenly  in  love,  not  with  strangers,  but  with 
opponents. 

Here  we  all  had  been  contending  against  the  progress 
of  executive  power.  The  honorable  member  stood  among 
us,  not  only  as  an  associate,  but  as  a  leader.  We  thought 
we  were  making  some  headway.  The  people  appeared  to 
be  coming  to  our  support  and  our  assistance.  The  country 
had  been  roused.  Every  successive  election  weakened  the 
strength  of  the  adversary,  and  increased  our  own.  We 
were~in  this  career  of  success,  and  only  needed  to  hear  the 
cheering  voice  of  the  honorable  member, 

"Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more!" 
and  we  should  have  prostrated,  forever,  this   anti-constitu- 
tional and  anti-republican  policy  of  the  administration. 

But  instead  of  these  encouraging  and  animating  accents, 
behold !  in  the  very  crisis  of  our  affairs,  on  the  very  eve 
of  victory,  the  honorable  member  cries  out  to  the  enemy, 
not  to  us,  his  allies,  but  to  the  enemy,  "  Halloo !  a  sudden 
thought  strikes  me !  I  abandon  my  allies !  Now  I  think 
of  it,  they  have  always  been  my  oppressors  !  I  abandon 
them  ;  and  now  let  you  and  me  swear  an  eternal  friend- 
ship!" 

Such  a  proposition,  from  such  a  quarter,  was  not  likely 
to  be  long  withstood.  The  other  party  was  a  little  coy, 
but,  upon  the  whole,  nothing  loth.  After  proper  hesita- 
tion, and  a  little  decorous  blushing,  it  owned  the  soft  im- 
peachment, admitted  an  equal  sudden  sympathetic  impulse 
on  its  own  side ;  and,  since  few  words  are  wanted,  where 
hearts  are  already  known,  the  honorable  gentleman  takes 
his  place  among  his  new  friends,  amid  greetings  and  caresses, 
and  is  already  enjoying  the  sweets  of  an  eternal  friendship. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  ..    237 


CXXVIII.-/THE  COALITION. 

THE  party  to 'which  Mr.  Webster  belonged,  having  been  accused,  in 
the  political  excitement  and  trickery  of  the  day,  of  a  dishonorable 
coalition  with  former  antagonists,  and  this  having  been  referred  to' 
in  the  senate,  the  following  spirited  reply  was  elicited. 

THE  coalition!  The  coalition!  Ay,  "the  murdered 
coalition  !"  The  gentleman  asks,  if  I  were  led  or  frightened 
into  this  debate  by  the  specter  of  the  coalition.  "Was  it 
the  ghost  of  the  murdered  coalition,"  he  exclaims,  "which 
haunted  the  member  from  Massachusetts.;  and  which,  like 
the  ghost  of  Banquo,  would  never  down  !"  "  The  mur- 
dered coalition  !" 

This  charge  of  a  coalition,  in  reference  to  the  late  ad- 
ministration, is  not  oriyinal  with  the  honorable  member. 
It  did  not  spring  up  in  the  senate.  Whether  as  a  fact,  as 
•an  argument,  or  as  an  embellishment,  it  is  all  borrowed. 
He  adopts  it,  indeed,  from  a  very  low  origin,  and  a  still 
lower  present  condition.  It  is  one  of  the  thousand  calum- 
nies with  which  the  press  teemed,  during  an  excited  politi- 
cal canvass. 

It  was  a  charge,  of  which  there  was  not  only  no  proof 
or  probability,  but  which  was  in  itself  wholly  impossible 
to  be  true.  No  man  of  common  information  ever  believed 
a  syllable  of  it.  Yet  it  was  of  that  class  of  falsehoods, 
which,  by  continued  repetition,  through  all  the  organs  of 
detraction  and  abuse,  are  capable  of  misleading  those  who 
are  already  far  misled,  and  of  further  fanning  passion 
already  kindling  into  flame.  Doubtless  it  served  in  its  day, 
and  in  greater  or  less  degree,  the  end  designed  by  it. 

Having  done  that,  it  has  sunk  into  the  general  mass  of 
stale  and  loathed  calumnies.  It  is  the  very  cast-off  slough 
of  a  polluted  and  shameless  press.  Incapable  of  further 
mischief,  it  lies  in  the  sewer,  lifeless  and  despised.  It  is  not 
now  in  the  power  of  the  honorable  member  to  give  it  dig- 
nity and  decency,  by  attempting  to  elevate  it,  and  to  intro- 
duce it  into  the  senate.  He  can  not  change  it  from  what 
it  is,  an  object  of  general  disgust  and  scorn.  On  the  con- 


238  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

trary,  the  contact,  if  he  choose  to  touch  it,  is  more  likely 
to  drag  him  down,  down,  to  the  place  where  it  lies  itself. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


CXXIX.— MR  DANE. 

IN  the  course  of  my  observations  the  other  day,  I  paid 
a  passing  tribute  of  respect  to  a  very  worthy  man,  Mr. 
Dane,  of  Massachusetts.  It  so  happened  that  he  drew  the 
ordinance  of  1787,  for  the  government  of  the  Northwestern 
Territory.  A  man  of  so  much  ability,  and  so  little  pre- 
tense ;  of  so  great  a  capacity  to  do  good,  and  so  unmixed 
a  disposition  to  do  it  for  its  own  sake ;  a  gentleman  who 
had  acted  an  important  part,  forty  years  ago,  in  a  measure 
the  influence  of  which  is  still  deeply  felt  in  the  very  mat- 
ter which  was  the  subject  of  debate,  might,  I  thought,  re- 
ceive from  me  a  commendatory  recognition. 

But  the  honorable  member  was  inclined  to  be  facetious 
on  the  subject.  He  was  rather  disposed  to  make  it  matter 
of  ridicule,  that  I  had  introduced  into  the  debate  the  name 
of  one  Nathan  Dane,  of  whom  he  assures  us  he  had  never 
before  heard.  If  the  honorable  member  had  never  before 
heard  of  Mr.  Dane,  I  am  sorry  for  it.  It  shows  him  less 
acquainted  with  the  public  men  of  the  country  than  I  had 
supposed. 

Let  me  tell  him,  however,  th.-it  a  sneer  from  him  at  the 
mention  of  the  name  of  Mr.  Dane  is  in  bad  taste.  It  may 
well  be  a  high  mark  of  ambition,  either  with  the  honorable 
gentleman  or  myself,  to  accomplish  as  much  to  make  our 
names  known  to  advantage,  and  remembered  with  gratitude, 
as  Mr.  Dane  has  accomplished.  But  the  truth  is,  I  sus- 
pect, that'  Mr.  Dane  lives  a  little  too  far  north.  He  is  of 
Massachusetts,  and  too  near  the  north  star  to  be  reached 
by  the  honorable  gentleman's  telescope.  If  his  sphere  had 
happened  to  range  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line,  he 
might,  probably,  have  come  within  the  scope  of  his  vision. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  239 


CXXX.— NATURE'S  GENTLEMAN. 

WHOM  do  we  dub  as  gentleman  ?    The  knave,  the  fool,  the  brute, 
If  they  but  own  full  tithe  of  gold,  and  wear  a  courtly  suit ! 
The  parchment  scroll  of  titled  line,  the  ribbon  at  the  knee, 
Can  still  suffice  to  ratify  and  grant  such  high  degree : 
But  Nature,  with  a  matchless  hand,  sends  forth  IIKU  nobly  born, 
And  laughs  the  paltry  attributes  of  wealth  and  rank  to  scorn; 
She  molds  with  care  a  spirit  rare,  half  human,  half  divine, 
And  cries,  exulting,  "  Who  can  make  a  gentleman  like  mine  ?" 

She  may  not  spend  her  common  skill  about  the  outward  part, 
But  showers  her  beauty,  grace,  and   light   upon   the  brain  and 

heart ; 

She  may  not  choose  ancestral  fame  his  pathway  to  illume ; 
The  sun  that  sheds   the   brightest  day  may  rise  from  mist  and 

gloom : 

Should  fortune  pour  her  welcome  store  and  useful  gold  abound, 
He  shares  it  with  a  bounteous  hand,  and  scatters  blessings  round; 
The  treasure  sent  is  rightly  spent,  and  serves  the  end  designed, 
When  held  by  Nature's  gentleman,  the  good,  the  ju8t}  the  kind. 

He  turns  not  from  the  cheerless  home  where  sorrow's  offspring 

dwell ; 

He'll  greet  the  peasant  in  his  hut,  the  culprit  in  his  cell; 
He  stays  to  hear  the  widow's  plaint  of  deep  and  mourning  love; 
He  seeks  to  aid  her  lot  below,  and  prompt  her  faith  above : 
The  orphan  child,  the  friendless  one,  the  luckless,  or  the  poor, 
Will  never  meet  his  spurning  frown,  or  leave  his  bolted  door; 
His  kindred  circles  all  mankind;  his  country  all  the  globe; 
An  honest  name  his  jeweled  star,  and  truth  his  ermine  robe. 

He  wisely  yields  his  passions  up  to  reason's  firm  control; 
His  pleasures  are  of  crimeless  kind,  and  never  taint  the  soul; 
He  may  be  thrown  among  the  gay  and  reckless  sons  of  life, 
But  will  not  love  the  revel  scene,  or  heed  the  brawling  strife. 
He  wounds  no  breast  with  jeer  or  jest,  yet  bears  no  honeyed 

tongue : 

He's  social  with  the  gray-haired  one,  and  merry  with  the  young; 
He  gravely  shares  the  council  speech,  or  joins  the  rustic  game, 
And  shines  as  Nature's  gentleman,  in  every  place  the  same. 

No  haughty  gesture  marks  his  gait,  no  pompous  tone,  his  word ; 
No  studied  attitude  is  seen,  no  palling  nonsense  heard; 


240  MOGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

» 

He'll  suit  his  bearing  to  the  hour;  laugh,  listen,  learn,  or  teach; 
With  joyous  freedom  in  his  mirth,  and  candor  in  his  speech: 
He  worships  God  with  inward  zeal,  and  serves  him  in  each  deed; 
He  would  not  blame  another's  faith,  nor  have  one  martyr  bleed; 
Justice  and  Mercy  form  his  code ;  he  puts  his  trust  in  Heaven ; 
His  prayer  is,  "  If  the  heart  mean  well,  may  all  else  be  for- 
given !" 

Though   few  of   such  may  gem  the  earth,  yet  such   rare   gems 

there  are, 

Each  shining  in  his  hallowed  sphere,  as  virtue's  polar  star; 
Though   human  hearts  too  oft  are  found  all  gross,  corrupt,  and 

dark, 
Yet,    yet   some   bosoms   breathe   and   burn,    lit  by   Promethean 

spark : 

There  are  some  spirits  nobly  just,  unwarped  by  pelf  or  pride, 
Great  in  the  calm,  but  greater  still  when  dashed  by  adverse  tide; 
They  hold  the  rank  no  king  can  give;  no  station  can  disgrace; 
Nature  puts  forth  HER  gentlemen,  and  rnonarchs  must  give  place. 


CXXXL— BERNARDINE  DU  BORN. 
PLANTAGENET;  (Plan-taj'-c-net,)  a  dynasty  of  English  kings. 

KING  HENRY  sat  upon  his  throne, 

And,  full  of  wrath  and  scorn, 
His  eye  a  recreant  knight  surveyed, 

Sir  Bernardino  du  Born. 
And  he  that  haughty  glance  returned, 

Like  a  lion  in  his  lair, 
And  loftily  his  unchanged  brow 

Gleamed  through  his  crisp-ed  hair. 

"Thou  art  a  traitor  to  the  realm! 

Lord  of  a  lawless  band ! 
The  bold  in  speech,  the  fierce  in  broil, 

The  troubler  of  our  land! 
Thy  castles  and  thy  rebel  towers 

Are  forfeit  to  the  crown; 
And  thou  beneath  the  Norman  ax 

Shall  end  thy  base  renown ! 

"  Deign'  st  thou  no  word  to  bar  thy  doom, 
Thou  with  strange  madness  fired? 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  241 

Hath  reason  quite  forsook  thy  breast  ?" 

Plantagenet  inquired. 
Sir  Bernard  turned  him  toward  the  king, 

And  blenched  not  in  his  pride; 
"My  reason  failed,  most  gracious  liege, 

The  year  Prince  Henry  died." 

Quick,  at  that  name,  a  cloud  of  woe 

Passed  o'er  the  monarch's  brow; 
Touched  was  that  bleeding  chord  of  love, 

To  which  the  mightiest  bow; 
And  backward  swept  the  tide  of  years; 

Again  his  first-born  moved; 
The  fair,  the  graceful,  the  sublime, 

The  erring,  yet  beloved. 

And  ever,  cherished  by  his  side, 

One  chosen  friend  was  near, 
To  share  in  boyhood's  ardent  sport, 

Or  youth's  untamed  career; 
With  him  the  merry  chase  he  sought, 

Beneath  the  dewy  morn, 
With  him  in  knightly  tourney  rode 

This  Bernardino  du  Born. 

Then,  in  the  mourning  father's  soul, 

Each  trace  of  ire  grew  dim, 
And  what  his  buried  idol  loved, 

Seemed  cleansed  of  guilt  to  him ; 
And  faintly  through  his  tears  he  spoke, 

"God  send  his  grace  to  thee! 
And,  for  the*  dear  sake  of  the  dead, 

Go  forth,  unscathed  and  free." 

•FROM  MRS.  SIGOURNEY. 


CXXXII.— RICHARD  I,  AT  HIS  FATHER'S  BIER. 

FONTEVRAUD  ;   (pro.  Fon-te-vro.") 

C(EUR-DE-LiON ;  (pro.  Kur-de-Leon,)  the" lion-hearted.  He  had  been 
«».  rebellious  son,  and  was  struck  with  remorse  at  his  father's  death. 
He  reformed,  and  proved  a  noble  king. 

TORCHES  were  blazing  clear, 

Hymns  pealing  deep  and  slow, 
Where  a  king  lay  stately  on  his  bier, 

In  the  church  of  Fontevraud. 
EC.  S.— 21 


242  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKEK. 

There  was  heard  a  heavy  clang, 

As  of  steel-girt  men  the  tread  ; 
And  the  tombs  and  the  hollow  pavement  rang 

With  a  sounding  thrill  of  dread; 
And  the  holy  chant  was  hushed  awhile, 

As,  by  the  torches'  flame, 
A  gleam  of  arms,  up  the  sweeping  aisle, 

.With  a  mail-clad  leader  came. 

He  came  with  haughty  look, 

An  eagle-glance  and  clear, 
But  his  proud  heart  through  its  breastplate  shook, 

When  he  stood  beside  the  bier ! 
He  stood  there  still  with  the  drooping  brow, 

And  clasped  hands  o'er  it  raised; 
For  his  father  lay  before  him  low. 

It  was  Coeur-de-Lion  gazed! 

He  looked  upon  the  dead, 

And  sorrow  seemed  to  lie, 
A  weight  of  sorrow,  even  like  lead, 

Pale  on  the  fast-shut  eye. 
He  stooped,  and  kissed  the  frozen  cheek, 

And  the  heavy  hand  of  clay, 
Till  bursting  words,  yet  all  too  weak, 

Gave  his  soul's  passion  way. 

"O,  father!  is  it  vain, 

This  late  remorse  and  deep  ? 
Speak  to  me,  father !  once  again, 

I  weep!  behold,  I  weep! 
Alas!  my  guilty  pride  and  ire! 

Were  but  this  work  undone! 
I  would  give  England's  crown,  my  sire, 

To  hear  thee  bless  thy  son. 

"Thy  silver  hairs  I  see, 

So  still,  so  sadly  bright! 
And  father,  father !  but  for  me, 

They  had  not  been  so  white ! 
7  bore  thee  down,  high  heart !  at  last, 

No  longer  couldst  thou  strive; 
Oh !  for  one  moment  of  the  past, 

To  kneel  and  say,  '  Forgive !' 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  243 

"  Thou  wert  the  noblest  king, 

On  royal  throne  e'er  seen; 
And  thou  didst  wear,  in  knightly  ring, 

Of  alL  the  stateliest  mien ; 
And  thou  didst  prove,  where  spears  are  proved 

In  war,  the  bravest  heart. 
Oh !  ever  the  renowned  and  loved 

Thou  wert;  and  there  thou  art!" 

FROM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


CXXXIII— PREVALENCE  OF  WAR 

WAR  is  the  law  of  violence :  peace,  the  law  of  love. 
That  law  of  violence  prevailed  without  mitigation,  from 
the  murder  of  Abel  to  the  advent  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 
We  might  have  imagined,  if  history  had  not  attested  the 
reverse,  that  an  experiment  of  four  thousand  years  would 
have  sufficed  to  prove,  that  the  rational  ends  of  society 
can  never  be  attained,  by  constructing  its  institutions  in 
conformity  with  the  standard  of  war.  But  the  sword  and 
the  torch  had  been  eloquent  in  vain. 

A  thousand  battlefields,  white  with  the  bones  of  brothers, 
were  counted  as  idle  advocates  in  the  cause  of  justice  and 
humanity.  Ten  thousand  cities,  abandoned  to  the  cruelty 
and  licentiousness  of  the  soldiery,  and  burnt,  or  disman- 
tled, or  razed  to  the  ground,  pleaded  in  vain  against  the 
law  of  violence.  The  river,  the  lake,  the  sea,  crimsoned 
with  the  blood  of  fellow-citizens,  and  neighbors,  and 
strangers,  had  lifted  up  their  voices  in  vain  to  denounce 
the  folly  and  wickedness  of  war. 

The  shrieks  and  agonies,  the  rage  and  hatred,  the  wounds 
and  curses  of  the  battlefield,  and  the  storm  and  the  sack, 
had  scattered  in  vain  their  terrible  warnings  throughout 
all  lands.  In  vain  had  the  insolent  Lysander  destroyed 
the  walls  and  burnt  the  fleets  of  Athens,  to  the  music  of 
her  own  female  flute-players.  In  vain  had  Scipio,  amid 


244  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

the  ruins  of  Carthage,  in   the  spirit  of  a  gloomy  seer,  ap- 
plied to  Rome  herself  the  prophecy  of  Agamemnon : 

"  The  day  shall  come,  the  great  avenging  day, 
Which  Troy's  proud  glories  in  the  dust  shall  lay; 
When  Priam's  power,  and  Priam's  self  shall  fall, 
And  one  prodigious  ruin  swallow  all.'' 

FROM  GKIMKE. 


CXXXIV.— WAR  FALSELY  COLORED. 

ON  every  side  of  me  I  see  causes  at  work,  which  go  to 
spread  a  most  delusive  coloring  over  war,  and  to  remove 
its  shocking  barbarities  to  the  background  of  our  contem- 
plations altogether.  I  see  it  in  the  history  which  tells  me 
of  the  superb  appearance  of  the  troops,  and  the  brilliancy 
of  their  successive  charges.  I  see  it  in  the  poetry  which 
lends  the  magic  of  its  numbers  to  the  narrative  of  blood, 
and  transports  its  many  admirers,  as  by  its  images,  and  its 
figures,  and  its  nodding  plumes  of  chivalry,  it  throws  its 
treacherous  embellishments  over  a  scene  of  legalized  slaugh- 
ter. 

I  see  it  in  the  music  which  represents  the  progress  of 
the  battle ;  and  where,  after  being  inspired  by  the  trumpet- 
notes  of  preparation,  the  whole  beauty  and  tenderness  of 
a  drawing-room  are  seen  to  bend  over  the  sentimental  en- 
tertainment; nor  do  I  hear  the  utterance  of  a  single  sigh 
to  interrupt  the  death-tones  of  the  thickening  contest,  and 
the  moans  of  the  wounded  men,  as  they  fade  away  upon 
the  ear,  and  sink  into  lifeless  silence. 

All,  all,  goes  to  prove  what  strange  and  half-sighted 
creatures  we  are.  Were  it  not  so,  war  could  never  have 
been  seen  in  any  other  aspect  than  that  of  unmingled 
hatefulness.  I  can  look  to  nothing  but  to  the  progress  of 
Christian  sentiment  upon  earth  to  arrest  the  strong  current 
of  the  popular  and  prevailing  partiality  for  war.  Then 
only  will  an  imperious  sense  of  duty  lay  the  check  of 
severe  principle  on  all  the  subordinate  tastes  and  faculties 
of  our  nature. 

Then  will  glory  be  reduced  to  its  right  estimate,  and  the 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  245 

wakeful  benevolence  of  the  Gospel,  chasing  away  every 
spell,  will  be  turned  by  the  treachery  of  no  delusion  what- 
ever from  its  simple  but  sublime  enterprises  for  the  good 
of  the  species.  Then  the  reign  of  truth  and  quietness  will 
be  ushered  into  the  world,  and  war,  cruel,  atrocious,  unre- 
lenting war,  will  be  stripped  of  its  many  and  its  bewilder- 
ing fascinations.  FROM  CHALMERS. 


CXXXV.--THE  DYING  SOLDIER. 

MORION;   (pro.  J/or'-i-ow,)  a  helmet. 

YATAGHAN;  (pro.   Yat'-a-ghan.)  a  Turkish  dagger. 

CORSELET,  a  light  breastplate. 

THE  shadows  of  evening  are  thickening.  Twilight  closes, 
and  the  thin  mists  are  rising  in  the  valley.  The  last 
charging  squadron  yet  thunders  in  the  distance  ;  but  it 
presses  only  on  the  foiled  and  scattered  foe.  The  fight  is 
over !  And  those  who  rode  foremost  in  its  field  at  morn- 
ing, where  are  they  now?  On  the  bank  of  yon  little 
stream,  there  lies  a  knight,  his  life-blood  ebbing  faster 
than  its  tide.  His  shield  is  rent  and  his  lance  is  broken. 
Soldier,  why  faintest  thou?  The  blood  that  swells  from 
that  deep  wound  will  answer. 

It  was  this  morning  that  the  sun  rose  bright  upon  his 
hopes;  it  sets  upon  his  grave.  This  day  he  led  the  fore- 
most rank  of  spears,  that  had  crossed  the  foe's  dark  line ; 
then  death  shouted  in  the  onset !  It  was  the  last  blow  that 
reached  him.  He  has  conquered,  though  he  shall  not  tri- 
umph in  the  victory.  His  breastplate  is  dinted.  His  hel- 
met has  the  traces  of  well-dealt  blows.  The  scarf  on  his 
breast !  she  would  shrink  but  to  touch  it  now,  who  placed 
it  there. 

Look  on  yon  crimsoned  field  that  seems  to  mock  the 
purple  clouds  above  it!  Prostrate  they  lie,  drenched  in 
their  dark  red  pool ;  thy  friends  and  enemies ;  the  dead 
and  dying;  the  veteran,  with  the  stripling  of  a  day;  the 
nameless  trooper  and  the  leader  of  a  hundred  hosts. 
Friend  lies  by  friend ;  the  steed,  with  his  rider ;  and  foes, 


246  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

linked  in  their  long  embrace — their  first  and  last — the 
gripe  of  death.  Far  o'er  the  field  they  lie,  a  gorgeous 
prey  to  ruin !  White  plume  and  steel  morion  !  saber  and 
yataghan  !  crescent  and  cross  !  rich  vest  and  bright  corslet  [ 
They  came  to  the  fight,  as  if  they  came  to  a  feasting.  Glo- 
rious and  glittering,  even  in  death,  each  shining  warrior 
lies! 

His  last  glance  still  seeks  that  banner!  The  cry,  that 
shall  never  be  repeated,  cheers  on  its  last  charge.  Oh, 
but  for  strength  to  reach  the  field  once  more !  to  die  in 
the  foe's  front!  Peace,  dreamer!  Thy  place  in  the  close 
rank  is  filled;  and  yet  another  waits  for  his  who  holds  it. 
Soldier  !  she  who  sped  thee  on  thy  course  to-day,  shall  seek 
thee,  with  her  blue  eyes,  in  the  conquering  ranks  to-mor- 
row ;  but  she  shall  seek  thee  in  vain  !  Proud  heads  shall 
bow  for  thee.  Bright  eyes  shall  weep  for  thee. 

Heath  !  thou  wilt  be  the  soldier's  pillow  !  Moon,  let  thy 
cold  light,  this  night,  fall  upon  him !  But,  morning,  thy 
soft  dews  shall  tempt  him  not !  The  soldier  must  wake  no 
more.  He  is  dead!  The  cross  of  a  knight  is  on  his 
breast !  his  lips  are  pressed  to  his  lady's  token  !  Soldier, 
farewell ! 


CXXXVI.— WAR  UNCHRISTIAN. 

WHERE  does  Christianity  sanction  war?  Is  it  in  the 
angels'  song  at  the  birth  of  Christ,  "Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will  to  men?"  Is  it  in 
the  benediction  promised  by  our  Divine  Lord  on  the  peace- 
makers? Is  it  in  his  command  to  love  our  enemies,  and, 
when  smitten  on  one  cheek,  to  turn,  without  resistance  or 
revenge,  the  other  to  the  offender?  Is  it,  in  short,  in  the 
whole  genius  and  spirit  of  Christianity?  Is  it  not  strange 
that  Christianity  should  have  been  eighteen  centuries  de- 
livering its  lessons  in  our  world,  and  that  men  should  be 
so  ignorant  of  its  nature  and  duties,  as  to  need  to  be  told 
that  it  is  hostile  to  the  spirit  of  war? 

It  is  this  propensity  to  hostility,  on  the  part  of  so  many 
profess  Christianity,  that  has  alienated  so  many  from 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  247 

it,  and  fostered  the  infidelity  of  the  age.  How  often  are 
we  met  with  the  taunt,  that  Christendom  has  been  as  deeply 
involved  in  this  dreadful  practice  as  the  pagan  and  Mo- 
hammedan nations.  We  deplore  the  fact;  but  we  deny  that 
it  is  sanctioned  by  the  New  Testament.  Tell  us  not  of 
the  foul  deeds  that  have  been  perpetrated  in  the  name  of 
Christianity.  Tell  us  not,  that  her  princes  have  been  am- 
bitious, and  her  priests,  rapacious;  that  one  has  drawn  the 
sword  and  unfurled  the  banner  under  the  benediction  of 
the  other;  and  that  both  have  met  in  the  camp,  the  crusade, 
and  the  battlefield,  covered  with  blood,  and  reveling  in 
slaughter. 

The  question  is  not  what  her  sacred  name  has  been 
abused  to  sanctify;  but  has  it  been  performed  by  her 
authority,  has  it  accorded  with  her  principles,  and  been 
congenial  with  her  spirit?  Shall  those  who  have  violated 
her  maxims,  set  at  defiance  her  commands,  despised  her 
remonstrances,  and  stifled  her  cries,  shall  they  be  allowed 
to  plead  her  authority  in  justification  of  their  doings? 
Not  only  Christianity  herself,  but  common  honesty  says,  No. 

I  know  very  well  there  are  four  millions  of  men  under 
arms  in  Europe.  I  know  also  what  a  seemingly  petty  in- 
cident may  call  all  those  to  deadly  strife.  It  is  quite 
possible,  if  not  even  probable,  that  a  deadly  struggle  may 
impend.  Still,  the  reign  of  peace  is  coming.  Many  a 
bright  and  beautiful  day  has  been  ushered  in  by  a  terrific 
thunder-storm,  and  while  the  thunders  were  rolling,  day 
was  advancing  behind  the  cloud  that  sent  them  forth.  Let 
Europe  be  again  involved  in  battle  and  bloodshed,  still 
here,  in  this  our  congress,  is  the  dawn  of  the  day  of  peace. 

Take  courage,  then,  in  carrying  on  your  pacific  schemes. 
Your  children,  or  your  children's  children,  may"  hear  the 
last  peals  of  war  die  away  amid  the  shouts  of  universal 
peace.  "They  may  see  the  commencement  of  the  millenial 
period  of  general  brotherhood,  when  Christians,  blushing 
over  the  crimes  of  former  generations,  shall  hasten  to  hide 
the  memorials  of  their  shame,  and  upon  the  anvil  of  reve- 
lation shall,  with  the  brawny  arm  of  reason,  "beat  the 
swords  into  plowshares,  and  the  spears  into  pruning  hooks/' 


248  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

CXXXYII.— PEACE. 

THIS  and  the  succeeding  extract  may  be  spoken  separately,  or 
one. 

How  beautiful  is  night!  the  balmiest  sigh, 
Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear, 
Were  discord  to  the  speaking  quietude 
That  wraps  the  moveless  scene.     Heaven's  ebon  vault, 
Studded  with  stars  unutterably  bright, 
Through  which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur  rolls, 
Seems  like  a  canopy  which  Love  had  spread, 
To  curtain  her  sleeping  world. 

Yon  gentle  hills, 

Robed  in  a  garment  of  untrodden  snow; 
Yon  darksome  rocks,  whence  icicles  depend, 
So  stainless,  that  their  white  and  glittering  spires 
Tinge  not  the  moon's  pure  beam;  yon  castled  steep, 
Whose  banner  hangeth  o'er  the  time-worn  tower 
So  idly,  that  rapt  fancy  dcemeth  it 
A  metaphor  of  peace;  all  form  a  scene, 
Where  musing  solitude  might  love  to  lift 
Her  soul  above  this  sphere  of  earthliness ; 
Where  silence,  undisturbed,  might  watch  alone, 
So  cold,  so  bright,  so  still. 

FROM  SHELLEY. 


CXXXVIII.— WAR. 

Air !  whence  yon  glare    • 

That  fires  the  arch  of  heaven  ?     That  dark  red  smoke 
Blotting  the  silver  moon?     The  stars  are  quenched 
In  darkness,  and  the  pure  and  spangling  snoAv 
Gleams  faintly  through  the  gloom  that  gathers  round ! 
Hark  to  that  roar,  whose  swift  and  deafening  peals 
In  countless  echoes  through  the  mountain  ring, 
Startling  pale  Midnight  on  her  starry  throne  ! 

Now  swells  the  intermingling  din;  the  jar, 
Frequent  and  frightful,  of  the  bursting  bomb  ; 
The  falling  beam,  the  shriek,  the  groan,  the  shout, 
The  ceaseless  clangor,  and  the  rush  of  men, 
Inebriate  with  rage:  loud,  and  more  loud 
The  discord  grows ;  till  pale  death  shuts  the  scene, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES. 

And  o'er  the  conqueror  and  the  conquered  draws 
His  cold  and  bloody  shroud. 

Of  all  the  men 

Whom  day's  departing  beam  saw  blooming  there, 
In  proud  and  vigorous  health;  of  all  the  hearts 
That  beat  with  anxious  life  at  sunset  there; 
How  few  survive,  how  few  are  beating  now! 
All  is  deep  silence,  like  the  fearful  calm 
That  slumbers  in  the  storm's  portentous  pause; 
Save  when  the  frantic  wail  of  widowed  love 
Comes  shuddering  on  the  blast,  or  the  faint  moan, 
With  which  some  soul  bursts  from  the  frame  of  clay, 
Wrapt  round  its  struggling  powers. 

The  gray  morn 

Dawns  on  the  mournful  scene.     The  sulphurous  smoke 
Before  the  icy  wind  slow  rolls  away ; 
And  the  bright  beams  of  frosty  morning  dance 
Along  the  spangling  snow.     There,  tracks  of  blood 
Even  to  the  forest's  depth,  and  scattered  arms, 
And  lifeless  warriors,  whose  hard  lineaments 
Death's  self  could  change  not,  mark  the  dreadful  path 
Of  the  outstanding  victors.     Far  behind, 
Black  ashes  note  where  their  proud  city  stood. 
Within  yon  forest  is  a  gloomy  glen ; 
Each  tree,  which  guards  its  darkness  from  the  day, 
Waves  o'er  a  warrior's  tomb. 

FROM  SHELLEY. 


CXXXIX.— TEACHINGS  OF  NATUKE. 

IN  Pollok's  "  Course  of  Time,"  from  which  this  extract  is  taken, 
the  speaker,  once  an  inhabitant  of  earth,  is  supposed  to  be  describing 
to  an  angel  what  had  happened  in  this  world  in  ages  long  past. 

THE  seasons  came  and  went,  and  went  and  came, 
To  teach  men  gratitude;  and,  as  they  passed, 
Gave  warning  of  the  lapse  of  time,  that  else 
Had  stolen  unheeded  by :  the  gentle  flowers 
Retired,  and,  stooping  o'er  the  wilderness, 
Talked  of  humility,  and  peace,  and  love. 
The  dews  came  down  unseen  at  evening  tide, 
And  silentiy  their  bounties  shed,  to  teach 
Mankind  unostentatious  charity. 


250  M°GUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

With  arm  in  arm  the  forest  rose  on  high, 
And  lesson  gave  of  brotherly  regard, 
And  on  the  rugged  mountain  brow  exposed, 
Bearing  the  blast  alone,  the  ancient  oak 
Stood,  lifting  high  his  mighty  arm,  and  still 
To  courage  in  distress  exhorted  loud. 
The  flocks,  the  herds,  the  birds,  the  streams,  the  breeze, 
Attuned  the  heart  to  melody  and  love. 

Mercy  stood  in  the  cloud,  with  eye  that  wept 
Essential  love ;  and,  from  her  glorious  brow, 
Bending  to  kiss  the  earth  in  token  of  peace, 
With  her  own  lips,  her  gracious  lips,  which  God 
Of  sweetest  accent  made,  she  whispered  still, 
She  whispered  to  Revenge !  Forgive,  forgive ! 

The  Sun,  rejoicing  round  the  earth,  announced 
Daily  the  wisdom,  power,  and  love  of  God, 
The  Moon  awoke,  and  from  her  maiden  face 
Shedding  her  cloudy  locks,  looked  meekly  forth, 
And  with  her  virgin  stars  walked  in  the  heavens, 
Walked  nightly  there,  conversing  as  she  walked 
Of  purity,  and  holiness,  and  God. 

In  dreams  and  visions,  sleep  instructed  much. 
Day  uttered  speech  to  day,  and  night  to  night 
Taught  knowledge :  silence  had  a  tongue :  the  grave, 
The  darkness,  and  the  lonely  waste,  had  each 
A  tongue,  that  ever  said;  Man!  think  of  God! 
Think  of  thyself!  think  of  eternity! 

Fear  God,  the  thunders  said;  fear  God,  the  waves; 
Fear  God,  the  lightning  of  the  storm  replied; 
Fear  God,  deep  loudly  answered  back  to  deep. 
And,  in  the  temples  of  the  Holy  One, 
Messiah's  messengers,  the  faithful  few, 
Faithful  'mong  many  false,  the  Bible  opened, 
And  cried :  Repent !  repent,  ye  Sons  of  Men ! 
Believe,  be  saved. 

FROM  POLLOK. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  251 


CXL.— THE  HURRICANE. 

LORD  of  the  winds !  I  feel  thee  nigh, 

I  know  thy  breath  in  the  burning  sky, 

And  I  wait,  with  a  thrill  in  every  vein, 

For  the  coming  of  the  hurricane ! 

And,  lo !  on  the  wing  of  the  heavy  gales, 

Through  the  boundless  arch  of  heaven  he  sails. 

Silent  and  slow,  and  terribly  strong, 

The  mighty  shadow  is  borne  along, 

Like  the  dark  eternity  to  come; 

While  the  world  below,  dismayed  and  dumb, 

Through  the  calm  of  the  thick,  hot  atmosphere, 

Looks  up  at  its  gloomy  folds  with  fear. 

They  darken  fast;  and  the  golden  blaze 

Of  the  sun  is  quenched  in  the  lurid  haze, 

And  he  sends  through  the  shade  a  funeral  ray, 

A  glare  that  is  neither  night  nor  day, 

A  beam  that  touches  with  hues  of  death 

The  clouds  above  and  the  earth  beneath. 

To  its  covert  glides  the  silent  bird, 

While  the  hurricane's  distant  voice  is  heard, 

Uplifted  among  the  mountains  round; 

And  the  forests  hear  and  answer  the  sound. 

He  is  come !  he  is  come !  do  ye  not  behold 

His  ample  robes  on  the  wind  unrolled? 

Giant  of  air !  we  bid  thee  hail ! 

How  his  gray  skirts  toss  in  the  whirling  gale  ! 

How  his  huge  and  writhing  arms  are  bent, 

To  clasp  the  zone  of  the  firmament, 

And  fold,  at  length,  in  their  dark  embrace, 

From  mountain  to  mountain,  the  visible  space ! 

Darker !  still  darker !  the  whirlwinds  bear 
The  dust  of  the  plains  to  the  middle  air: 
And  hark  to  the  crashing,  long  and  loud, 
Of  the  chariot  of  God  in  the  thunder-cloud ! 
You  may  trace  its  path  by  the  flashes  that  start 
From  the  rapid  wheels  wherever  they  dart, 
As  the  fire-bolts  leap  to  the  world  below, 
And  flood  the  skies 'with  a  lurid  glow. 


252  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

What  roar  is  that?     'Tis  the  rain  that  breaks 

In  torrents  away  from  the  airy  lakes, 

Heavily  poured  on  the  shuddering  ground, 

And  shedding  a  nameless  horror  round. 

Ah!  well-known  woods,  and  mountains,  and  skies, 

With  the  very  clouds,  ye  are  lost  to  my  eyes. 

I  seek  ye  vainly,  and  see  in  your  place 

The  .shadowy  tempest  that  sweeps  through  space: 

A  whirling  ocean  now  fills  the  wall 

Of  the  crystal  heaven,  and  buries  all; 

And  I,  cut  off  from  the  world,  remain 

Alone  with  the  terrible  hurricane. 

FROM  BRYANT. 


CXLI.— SUMMER  HEAT. 

ALL-CONQUERING  Heat,  oh,  intermit  thy  wrath! 
And  on  my  throbbing  temples,  potent  thus 
Beam  not  so  fierce !     Incessant  still  you  flow, 
And  still  another  fervent  flood  succeeds, 
Poured  on  the  head  profuse.     In  vain  I  sigh, 
And  restless  turn,  and  look  around  for  night; 
Night  is  far  off;  and  hotter  hours  approach. 

Thrice  happy  he,  who,  on  the  sunless  side 
Of  a  romantic  mountain,  forest-crowned, 
Beneath  the  whole-collected  shade  reclines; 
Or  in  the  gelid  caverns,  woodbine-wrought, 
And  fresh  bedewed  with  ever-spouting  streams, 
Sits  coolly  calm;  while  all  the  world  without, 
Unsatisfied,  and  sick,  tosses  in  noon. 
Emblem,  instructive  of  the  virtuous  man, 
Who  keeps  his  tempered  mind,  serene  and  pure, 
And  every  passion,  aptly  harmonized, 
Amid  a  jarring  world  with  vice  inflamed. 

Welcome,  ye  shades !  ye  bowery  thickets,  hail ! 
Ye  lofty  pines !  ye  venerable  oaks ! 
Ye  ashes  wild,  resounding  o'er  the  steep! 
Delicious  is  your  shelter  to  the  soul, 
As  to  the  hunted  hart  the  sallying  spring, 
Or  stream,  full  flowing,  that  his  swelling  sides 
Laves,  as  he  floats  along  the  herbaged  brink. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  253 

Cool,  through  the  nerves,  your  pleasing  comfort  glides; 
The  heart  beats  glad ;  the  fresh  expanded  eye 
And  ear  resume  their  watch ;  the  sinews  knit ; 
And  life  shoots  swift  through  all  the  lightened  limbs. 

FROM  THOMSON. 


CXLIL— NO ! 

No  sun,  no  moon, 

No  morn,  no  noon, 
No  dawn,  no  dusk,  no  proper  time  of  day, 

No  sky,  no  earthly  view, 

No  distance,  looking  blue, 
No  road,  no  street,  no  "  t*  other  side  the  way," 

No  end  to  any  Row, 

No  indications  where  the  Crescents  go. 

No  top  to  any  steeple, 
No  recognitions  of  familiar  people, 

No  courtesies  for  showing  'em, 

No  knowing  'em, 

No  traveling  at  all,  no  locomotion, 
No  inkling  of  the  way,  no  notion, 

"No  go,"  by  land  or  ocean, 

No  mail,  no  post, 

No  news  from  any  foreign  coast. 

No  park,  no  ring,  no  afternoon  gentility, 

No  company,  no  nobility, 
No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful  ease, 

No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member. 
No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees, 
No  fruits,  no  flowers,  no  leaves,  no  birds, 
Nb-vember  I 

FEOM  HOOD. 


254  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXLIIL—  THE  SHEEP  STEALER— SCENE  I. 

CHARACTERS. — Scout,  the  village  lawyer;  and  Sheep/ace,  the  sheep 
stealer. 

(Enter  Scout  and  Sheepface.) 

Scout.  HA,  ha.  I  think  I  have  made  a  good  morn- 
ing's work  !  But  who  have  we  here  ?  Sure  I  should  know 
that  face. 

Sheep.  Sarvant,  sir.  I  am  come  to  ask  your  worship  to 
stand  my  friend  against  a — his  worship,  my  master. 

Scout.  What,  the  rich  farmer  here,  that  lives  in  the 
neighborhood  ? 

Sheep.  Yes,  yes,  he  lives  in  the  neighborhood,  sure 
enough  ;  and  if  you  will  stand  my  friend,  you  shall  be 
paid  to  your  heart's  content. 

Scout.  Ay !  now  you  speak  to  the  purpose :  come,  you 
must  tell  me  how  it  was. 

Sheep.  Why,  you  must  know,  my  master  gives  me  but 
small  wages ;  very  small  wages  indeed  !  So  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  do  a  little  business  on  my  own  account,  and 
make  myself  amends  without  any  damage  to  him,  with  an 
honest  neighbor  of  mine,  a  little  bit  of  a  butcher,  by 
trade. 

Scout.  Well,  but  what  business  can  you  have  to  do 
with  him  ? 

Sheep.  Why,  saving  your  worship's  presence,  I  hinders 
the  sheep  from  dying  of  the  rot. 

Scout.     Ah  !  how  do  you  contrive  that  ? 

Sheep.    I  cuts  their  throats  before  it  comes  to  them. 

Scout.  What !  I  suppose,  then,  your  master  thinks  you 
kill  his  sheep  for  the  sake  of  selling  their  carcasses? 

Sheep.  Yes ;  and  I  can  not  beat  it  out  of  his  head  for 
the  soul  of  me. 

Scout.  Well,  then,  you  must  tell  me  all  the  particulars 
about  it.  Relate  every  circumstance,  and  do  n't  hide  a  sin- 
gle item. 

Sheep.  Why,  then,  sir,  you  must  know,  that  last  night, 
as  I  was  going  down, — must  I  tell  the  truth? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  255 

Scout.  Yes,  yes;  you  must  tell  the  truth  here,  or  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  lie  to  the  purpose  any  where  else. 

Sheep.  Well,  then,  last  night,  having  a  little  leisure 
time  upon  my  hands,  I  goes  down  to  our  pen;  and,  as  I 
was  musing  on,  I  do  n't  know  what,  out  I  takes  my  knife, 
and  happening  by  mere  accident,  saving  your  worship's 
presence,  to  put  it  under  the  throat  of  one  of  the  fattest 
wethers,  I  don't  know  how  it  came  about,  but  I  had  not 
been  long  there,  before  the  wether  died,  and  all  of  a  sud- 
den, as  a  body  may  say. 

Scout.  What !  and  somebody  was  looking  on  all  the 
while? 

Sheep.  Yes,  master,  from  behind  the  hedge,  and  would 
have  it,  it  died  all  along  of  me.  And  so,  you  see,  he  laid 
a  shower  of  blows  on  me.  But  I  hope  your  worship  will 
stand  my  friend,  and  not  let  me  lose  the  fruits  of  my  hon- 
est labors,  all  at  once. 

Scout.  Why,  there  are  two  ways  of  settling  this  busi- 
ness; and  one  is,  I  think,  to  be  done  without  putting  you 
to  any  expense. 

Sheep.    Let's  try  that  first,  by  all  means. 

Scout.  You  have  scraped  up  something  in  your  master's 
service. 

Sheep.    I  have  been  up  late  and  early  for  it,  sir. 

Scout.  I  suppose  you  have  taken  care  to  have  your 
savings  all  in  hard  cash? 

Sheep.    Yes,  sir. 

Scout.  Well,  then,  when  you  go  home,  take  it  and  hide 
it  in  the  safest  place  you  can  find. 

Sheep.     Yes,  sir,  that  I'll  do. 

Scout.  I  '11  take  care  your  master  shall  pay  all  costs  and 
charges. 

Sheep.    Ay,  so  he  ought.     He  can  afford  it. 

Scout.     It  shall  be  nothing  out  of  your  pocket. 

Sheep.    That's  just  as  I  would  have  it. 

Scout.  He  '11  have  all  the  trouble  and  expense  of  bring- 
ing you  to  trial,  and,  after  that,  have  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing you  hanged. 

Sheep.    Hanged?     Let's  take  the  other  way. 


256  MCQTJFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

Scout.  "Well,  let  me  see.  I  suppose  he  '11  take  out  a 
warrant  against  you,  and  have  you  taken  before  Justice 
Mittimus. 

Sheep.    So  I  understand. 

Scout.  I  think  the  justice's  credulity  is  easily  imposed 
on;  so,  when  you  are  ordered  before  him,  I'll  attend; 
and  to  all  the  questions  that  you  are  asked,  answer  nothing, 
but  imitate  the  voice  of  the  lambs,  when  they  bleat  after 
the  ewes.  You  can  speak  that  dialect. 

Sheep.     'Tis  my  mother  tongue. 

Scout.  But,  if  I  bring  you  clear  off,  I  expect  to  be  very 
well  paid  for  this. 

Sheep.  So  you  shall.  I'll  pay  you  to  your  heart's  con- 
ent. 

Scout.     Be  sure  you  answer  nothing  but  baa ! 

Sheep.    Baa  ! 

Scout.  Ay  !  that  will  do  very  well.  Be  sure  you  stick 
to  that. 

Sheep.  Yes,  your  worship,  never  fear.  What  trouble  a 
body  has  to  keep  one's  own  in  this  world.  (Exeunt.) 


CXLIV.— THE  SHEEPSTEALER.— SCENE.  II. 

CHARACTERS.—  The  Justice,  Mittimus,  at  his  table;  Sheep/ace,  the  sheep- 
stealer ;  Scout,  his  lawyer;  and  Snarl,  the  accuser;  and  Constables. 

Justice.  So,  the  court  being  assembled,  the  parties  may 
appear.  Where  is  your  lawyer,  neighbor  Snarl  ? 

Snarl.  I  am  my  own  lawyer;  I  shall  employ  nobody; 
that  would  cost  more  money. 

Just.       Well,  neighbor  Snarl,  begin. 

Snarl.    Well  then,  that  thief,  there— 

Just.       No  abuse  !     No  abuse  ! 

Snarl.  Well  then,  I  say,  that  rascal,  my  shepherd,  has 
killed  fourteen  of  my  fattest  wethers.  What  answer  do 
you  make  to  that? 

Scout.     I  deny  the  fact. 

Snarl.    What  is  become  of  them,  then? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  257 

Scout.     They  did  die  of  the  rot. 

Just.       What  xproof  have  you  got ?     (To  Snarl.) 

Snarl.  Why,  I  went  down  last  night  to  the  pens,  hav- 
ing long  suspected  him,  and  there  I  caught  him  in  the 
very  act. 

Scout.     That  remains  to  be  proved. 

Snarl.    Yes,  I  will  swear  it  is  the  very  man. 

Just.  Come  here,  my  good  fellow.  (Sheepface  crosses 
to  Justice.)  Hold  up  your  head,  do  n't  be  frightened,  tell 
me  your  name. 

Sheep.    Baa  ! 

Snarl.    It  is  a  lie  !     It  is  a  lie  !     His  name  is  Sheepface. 

Just.  Well,  well,  Sheepface  or  Baa,  no  matter  for  the 
name.  Did  Mr.  Snarl  give  you  in  charge  fourscore  sheep? 

Sheep.    Baa  ! 

Just.  I  say,  did  Mr.  Snarl  catch  you  in  the  night,  kill- 
ing one  of  his  fattest  wethers? 

Sheep.    Baa  ! 

Just.       What  does  he  mean  by  baa? 

Scout.  Please  your  worship,  the  blows  he  gave  this 
poor  fellow  on  the  head  have  so  affected  his  senses,  he  can 
say  nothing  else.  He  is  to  be  trepanned  as  soon  as  the 
court  breaks  up:  and  the  doctors  say,  it  is  the  whole 
Materia  Medica  against  a  dose  of  jalap,  he  never  recovers. 

Just.  But  the  law  forbids  all  blows,  particularly  on 
the  liead. 

Snarl.  It  was  dark,  and,  when  I  strike,  I  never  mind 
where  the  blows  fall. 

Scout.     A  voluntary  confession,  a  voluntary  confession  ! 

Just.  A  voluntary  confession,  indeed.  Release  the 
prisoner.  I  find  no  cause  of  complaint  against  him.  (Ex- 
eunt Constables.) 

Snarl.  No  cause  of  complaint  against  him.  You  are  a 
pretty  justice,  indeed.  He  kills  my  sheep,  and  you  see  no 
cause  of  complaint  against  him. 

Just.       Not  I,  truly. 

Snarl.  A  pretty  day's  work  I  have  made,  indeed.  But 
as  for  you,  Mr.  Lawyer,  we  shall  meet  again.  (Exit 
Snarl.) 

XEW  EC.  S.— 22 


258  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

Just.  0  fie,  neighbor  Snarl,  you  are  to  blame,  very 
much  to  blame,  indeed. 

Scout.  Come,  now  it  is  all  over,  go  and  thank  his  wor- 
ship. 

Sheep.   Baa!  baa!  baa! 

Just.  Enough,  enough,  my  good  fellow,  take  care  you 
do  not  catch  cold  in  your  head.  Go  and  get  trepanned, 
and  take  care  of  yourself,  Sheepface. 

Sheep.    Baa ! 

Just.       Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow.     (Exit  Justice.} 

Scout.  Bravo,  my  boy  !  You  have  acted  your  part  ad- 
mirably, and  I  think  I  did  very  well  to  bring  you  off  so 
cleverly.  Now  I  make  no  doubt,  but,  as  you  are  a  very 
honest  fellow,  you'll  pay  me  as  generously  as  you  prom- 
ised. 

Sheep.    Baa! 

Scout.  Ay !  very  well,  very  well,  indeed.  You  did  that 
very  well  just  now,  but  there's  no  occasion  to  have  it  over 
any  more.  I'm  talking  about  my  fee  you  know,  Sheep- 
face  !  Yes,  yes,  I  tell  you  it  was  very  well  done,  but  at 
this  time,  you  know,  my  fee  is  the  question. 

Sheep.    Baa !  baa  ! 

Scout.  How 's  this,  am  I  laughed  at  ?  Pay  me  directly, 
you  rascal,  or  I'll  make  you  rue  it.  I'll  teach  you  to  try 
to  cheat  a  lawyer.  I'll — 

Sheep.    Baa! 

Scout.  What !  again !  Braved  by  a  mongrel  cur,  a 
bleating — 

Sheep.    Baa ! 

Scout.  Out  of  my  sight!  or  I'll  break  every  bone  in 
your  dog's  skin,  you  sheep-stealing  scoundrel.  Would  you 
cheat  one  that  has  cheated  hundreds?  Get  home  to  your 
hiding  place ! 

Sheep.    Baa!     (Exeunt.) 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  259 


CXLV.— WHAT  HAS  AMERICA  DONE  ? 

WHAT  has  this  nation  done,  to  repay  the  world  for  the 
benefits  we  have  received  from  others  ?  We  have  been  re- 
peatedly told,  and  sometimes,  too,  in  a  tone  of  affected 
partiality,  that  the  highest  praise  which  can  fairly  be  given 
to  the  American  mind,  is  that  of  possessing  an  enlightened 
selfishness.  We  have  been  told,  that  if  the  philosophy  and 
talents  of  this  country,  with  all  their  effects,  were  forever 
swept  into  oblivion,  the  loss  would  be  felt  only  by  our- 
selves ;  and  that  if  to  the  accuracy  of  this  general  charge, 
the  labors  of  Franklin  present  an  illustrious,  it  is  still  a 
solitary,  exception. 

Is  it  nothing  for  the  universal  good  of  mankind  to  have 
carried  into  successful  operation  a  system  of  self-govern- 
ment, uniting  personal  liberty,  freedom  of  opinion,  and 
equality  of  rights,  with  national  power  and  dignity  ;  such 
as  had  before  existed  only  in  the  Utopian  dreams  of  phi- 
losophers? Is  it  nothing,  in  moral  science,  to  have  antici- 
pated in  sober  reality,  numerous  plans  of  reform  in  civil 
and  criminal  jurisprudence,  which  are,  but  now,  received  as 
plausible  theories  by  the  politicians  and  economists  of 
Europe  ? 

Is  it  nothing  to  have  been  able  to  call  forth,  on  every 
emergency,  either  in  war  or  peace,  a  body  of  talents  always 
equal  to  the  difficulty?  Is  it  nothing  to  have,  in  less  than 
a  half  century,  exceedingly  improved  the  sciences  of  politi- 
cal economy,  of  law,  and  of  medicine,  with  all  their  auxili- 
ary branches?  Is  it  nothing  to  have  enriched  human 
knowledge  by  the  accumulation  of  a  great  mass  of  useful 
facts  and  observations,  and  to  have  augmented  the  power 
and  the  comforts  of  civilized  man,  by  miracles  of  mechani- 
cal invention  ? 

Is  it  nothing  to  have  given  the  world  examples  of  dis- 
interested patriotism,  of  political  wisdom,  of  public  virtue; 
of  learning,  eloquence,  and  valor,  never  exerted  save  for 
some  praiseworthy  end  ?  It  is  sufficient  to  have  briefly 
suggested  these  considerations ;  every  mind  would  antici- 
pate me  in  filling  up  the  details. 


260  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

No  !  Land  of  Liberty  !  thy  children  have  no  cause  to 
blush  for  thee.  What  though  the  arts  have  reared  few 
monuments  among  us,  and  scarce  a  trace  of  the  Muse's 
footstep  is  found  in  the  paths  of  our  forests,  or  along  the 
banks  of  our  rivers;  yet  our  soil  has  been  consecrated  by 
the  blood  of  heroes,  and  by  great  and  holy  deeds  of  peace. 
Its  wide  extent  has  become  one  vast  temple  and  hallowed 
asylum,  sanctified  by  the  prayers  and  blessings  of  the  per- 
secuted of  every  sect,  and  the  wretched  of  all  nations. 

Land  of  Refuge!  Land  of  Benedictions!  Those  pray- 
ers still  arise,  and  they  still  are  heard  :  "  May  peace  be 
within  thy  walls,  and  plenteousness  within  thy  palaces  !" 
"  May  there  be  no  decay,  no  leading  into  captivity,  and 
no  complaining  in  thy  streets  !"  "  May  truth  flourish  out 
of  the  earth,  and  righteousness  look  down  from  Heaven  !" 


CXLVI.— TRUE  AMBITION. 

I  HAVE  been  accused  of  ambition  in  presenting  this 
measure  ;  ambition,  inordinate  ambition.  If  I  had  thought 
of  myself  only,  I  should  have  never  brought  it  forward. 
I  know  well  the  perils  to  which  I  expose  myself.  I  know  the 
risk  of  alienating  faithful  and  valued  friends,  with  but  little 
prospect  of  making  new  ones;  and  the  honest  misconcep- 
tion both  of  friends  and  foes. 

Ambition?  If  I  had  listened  to  its  soft  and  seducing 
whispers ;  if  I  had  yielded  myself  to  the  dictates  of  a  cold, 
calculating,  and  prudential  policy,  I  would  have  stood  un- 
moved. I  might  even  have  silently  gazed  on  the  raging 
storm,  enjoyed  its  loudest  thunders,  and  left  those  who  are 
charged  with  the  care  of  the  vessel  of  state  to  conduct  it 
as  they  could.  I  have  been,  heretofore,  often  unjustly  ac- 
cused of  ambition.  Low,  groveling  souls,  who  are  utterly 
incapable  of  elevating  themselves  to  the  higher  and  nobler 
duties  of  pure  patriotism,  judge  me  by  the  venal  rule  which 
they  prescribe  to  themselves.  I  have  given  to  the  winds 
those  false  accusations,  as  I  consign  that  which  now  im- 
peaches my  motives. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  261 

I  have  no  desire  for  office.  The  most  exalted  is  but  a 
prison,  in  which  the  incarcerated  incumbent  daily  receives 
his  cold,  heartless  visitants,  and  is  cut  off  from  the  practi- 
cal enjoyment  of  all  the  blessings  of  genuine  freedom.  I 
am  no  candidate  for  any  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people  of 
these  States,  united  or  separated.  I  never  wish,  never  ex- 
pect to  be.  Pass  this  bill,  tranquilize  the  country,  restore 
confidence  and  affection  in  the  Union,  and  I  am  willing  to 
go  home  to  Ashland,  and  renounce  public  service  forever. 

I  should  there  find,  in  its  groves,  under  its  shades,  on 
its  lawns,  mid  my  flocks  and  herds,  in  the  bosom  of  my 
family,  sincerity  and  truth,  attachment,  and  fidelity,  and 
gratitude,  which  I  have  not  always  found  in  the  walks  of 
public  life.  Yes,  I  have  ambition.  But  it  is  the  ambition 
of  being  the  humble  instrument,  in  the  hands  of  Provi- 
dence, of  reconciling  a  divided  people ;  of  reviving  con- 
cord and  harmony  in  a  distracted  land.  It  is  the  ambition 
of  contemplating  the  glorious  spectacle  of  a  free,  unifedy 
and  prosperous  people.  FROM  HENRY  CLAY. 


CXLYII— HENRY  CLAY. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  a  speech,  delivered  in  the  senate,  on  the 
death  of  Henry  Clay. 

CLAY  was  indeed  eloquent.  All  the  world  knows  that. 
He  held  the  keys  to  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen,  and  he 
turned  the  wards  within  them  with  a  skill  attained  by  no 
other  master.  But  eloquence  was  nevertheless  only  an  in- 
strument, and  one  of  many  that  he  used.  His  conversa- 
tion, his  gestures,  his  very  look,  were  magisterial,  persua- 
sive, seductive,  irresistible.  And  his  appliance  of  all  these 
was  courteous,  patient,  and  indefatigable. 

Defeat  only  inspired  him  with  new  resolution.  He 
divided  opposition  by  his  assiduity  of  address,  while  he 
rallied  and  strengthened  his  own  bands  of  supporters  by 
the  confidence  of  success  which,  feeling  himself,  he  easily 
inspired  among  his  followers.  His  affections  were  high, 
and  pure,  and  generous,  and  the  chiefest  among  them  was 


262  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

that  one,  which  the  great  Italian  poet  designated  as  the 
love  of  native  land.  In  him,  that  love  was  an  enduring 
and  overpowering  enthusiasm,  and  it  influenced  all  his 
sentiments  and  conduct,  rendering  him  more  impartial  be- 
tween conflicting  interests  and  sections,  than  any  other 
statesman  who  has  lived  since  the  Revolution. 

Thus  with  great  versatility  of  talent,  and  the  most  cath- 
olic equality  of  favor,  he  identified  every  question,  whether 
of  domestic  administration  or  foreign  policy,  with  his  own 
great  name,  and  so  became  a  perpetual  tribune  of  the  peo- 
ple. He  needed  only  to  pronounce  in  favor  of  a  measure 
or  against  it,  and  immediately  popular  enthusiasm,  excited 
as  by  a  magic  wand,  was  felt,  overcoming  and  dissolving 
all  opposition  in  the  senate-chamber. 

The  great  lights  of  the  senate  have  set.  The  obscura- 
tion is  no  less  palpable  to  the  country  than  to  us,  who  are 
left  to  grope  our^  uncertain  way  here,  as  in  a  labyrinth, 
oppressed  with  self-distrust.  The  time,  too,  presents  new 
embarrassments.  We  are  rising  to  another  and  more  sub- 
lime stage  of  national  progress;  that  of  expanding  wealth 
and  rapid  territorial  aggrandizement. 

But  the  example  of  Henry  Clay  remains  for  our  instruc- 
tion. His  genius  has  passed  to  the  realms  of  light,  but  his 
virtues  still  live  here  for  our  emulation.  With  them  there 
will  remain  also  the  protection  and  favor  of  the  Most 
High,  if  by  the  practice  of  justice  and  the  maintenance  of 
freedom  we  shall  deserve  them. 

Let,  then,  the  bier  pass  on.  We  will  follow  with  sor- 
row, but  not  without  hope,  the  reverend  form  that  it  bears 
to  its  final  resting  place.  And  when  that  grave  opens  at 
our  feet  to  receive  so  estimable  a  treasure,  we  will  invoke 
the  God  of  our  fathers  to  send  us  new  guides,  like  him 
that  is  now  withdrawn,  and  give  us  wisdom  to  obey  their 
instructions.  FROM  SEWAKD. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  263 


CXLVIIL— REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  GOOD. 

WHY  is  it  that  the  names  of  Howard,  and  Thornton, 
and  Clarkson,  and  Wilberforce,  will  be  held  in  everlasting 
remembrance  ?  Is  it  not  chiefly  on  account  of  their  good- 
ness, their  Christian  philanthropy,  the  overflowing  and  in- 
exhaustible benevolence  of  their  great  minds?  Such  men 
feel  that  they  were  not  born  for  themselves,  nor  for  the 
narrow  circle  of  their,  kindred  and  acquaintances,  but  for 
the  world  and  for  posterity.  They  delight  in  doing  good 
on  a  great  scale.  Their  talents,  their  property,  their  time, 
their  knowledge,  and  experience,  and  influence,  they  hold 
in  constant  requisition  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor,  the  op- 
pressed, and  the  perishing. 

You  may  trace  them  along  the  whole  pathway  of  life,  by 
the  blessings  which  they  scatter  far  and  wide.  They  may 
be  likened  to  yon  noble  river,  which  carries  gladness  and 
fertility,  from  state  to  state,  through  all  the  length  of  that 
rejoicing  valley,  which  it  was  made  to  bless ;  or  to  those 
summer  showers  which  pour  gladness  and  plenty  over  all 
the  regions  that  they  visit,  till  they  melt  away  into  the 
glorious  effulgence  of  the  setting  sun. 

Such  a  man  was  Howard,  the  prisoner's  friend.  Chris- 
tian philanthropy  was  the  element  in  which  he  lived  and 
moved,  and  out  of  which  life  would  have  been  intolerable. 
It  was  to  him  that  kings  listened  with  astonishment,  as  if 
doubtful  from  what  world  of  pure  disinterestedness  he  had 
come.  To  him  despair  opened  her  dungeons,  and  plague 
and  pestilence  could  summon  no  terrors  to  arrest  his  inves- 
tigations. In  his  presence,  crime,  though  girt  with  the 
iron  panoply  of  desperation,  stood  amazed  and  rebuked. 
With  him  home  was  nothing,  country  was  nothing,  health 
was  nothing,  life  was  nothing.  His  first  and  last  question 
was,  "What  is  the  utmost  that  I  can  do  for  degraded, 
depraved,  bleeding  humanity,  in  all  her  prison  houses?" 

And  what  wonders  did  he  accomplish !  What  astonish- 
ing changes  in  the  whole  system  of  prison  discipline  may 
be  traced  to  him?  How  many  millions,  yet  to  be  born, 


264  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

will  rise  up  and  call  him  blessed  !  Away,  all  ye  Caesars 
and  Napoleons,  to  your  own  dark  and  frightful  domains 
of  slaughter  and  misery!  Ye  can  no  more  endure  the 
light  of  such  a  godlike  presence,  than  the  eye,  already  in- 
flamed to  torture  by  dissipation,  can  look  the  sun  in  the 
face  at  noonday. 


CXLIX.— TRIUMPH  OF  HOPE. 

CIM-ME'-RE-AN  ;  from  Cimmerium,  (modern   Crimea,)  supposed  by  the 
ancients  to  be  the  darkest  place  in  the  world. 

UNFADING  Hope !  when  life's  last  embers  burn, 
When  soul  to  soul,  and  dust  to  dust  return. 
Heaven  to  thy  charge  resigns  the  awful  hour; 
Oh!  then,  thy  kingdom  comes,  Immortal  Power! 
What  though  each  spark  of  earth-born  rapture  fly 
The  quivering  lip,  pale  cheek,  and  closing  eye  ? 
Bright  to  the  soul  thy  seraph  hands  convey 
The  morning  dream,  of  life's  eternal  day : 
Then,  then,  the  triumph    and  the  trance  begin! 
And  all  the  phenix  spirit  burns  within ! 

Oh!  deep-enchanting  prelude  to  repose, 

The  dawn  of  bliss,  the  twilight  of  our  woes  ! 

Yet  half  I  hear  the  parting  spirit  sigh, 

It  is  a  dread  and  awful  thing  to  die ! 

Mysterious  worlds,  untraveled  by  the  sun ! 

Where  Time's  far  wandering  tide  has  never  run, 

From  your  unfathomed  shades,  and  viewless  spheres, 

A  warning  comes,  unheard  by  other  ears. 

'Tis  Heaven's  commanding  trumpet,  long  and  loud, 
Like  Sinai's  thunder,  pealing  from  the  cloud ! 
While  nature  hears,  with  terror- mingled  trust, 
The  shock  that  hurls  her  fabric  to  the  dust; 
And,  like  the  trembling  Hebrew,  when  he  trod 
The  roaring  waves,  and  called  upon  his  God, 
With  mortal  terrors  clouds  immortal  bliss, 
And  shrieks,  and  hovers  o'er  the  dark  abyss! 

Daughter  of  faith,  awake,  arise,  illume 
The  dread  unknown,  the  chaos  of  the  tomb: 


ECLECTIC    SERIES. 

Melt,  and  dispel,  ye  specter-doubts,  that  ro 
Cimmerian  darkness  on  the  parting  soul! 
Fly,  like  the  moon-eyed  herald  of  dismay, 
Chased  on  his  night-steed  by  the  star  of  day ! 
The  strife  is  o'er;  the  pangs  of  nature  close, 
And  life's  last  rapture  triumphs  o'er  her  woes. 

Hark!  as  the  spirit  eyes,  with  eagle  gaze, 
The  noon  of  heaven,  undazzled  by  the  blaze, 
On  heavenly  winds  that  waft  her  to  the  sky, 
Float  the  sweet  tones  of  star-born  melody; 
Wild  as  that  hallowed  anthem  sent  to  hail 
Bethlehem's  shepherds  in  the  lonely  vale, 
When  Jordan  hushed  his  waves,  and  midnight  still 
Watched  on  the  holy  towers  of  Zion's  hill ! 

FROM  CAMPBELL. 


CL.— THE  THREE  HOMES. 

"WHERE  is  thy  home?"  I  asked  a  child, 

Who,  in  the  morning  air, 
Was  twining  flowers  most  sweet  and  wild 

In  garlands  for  her  hair. 
"My  home,"  the  happy  heart  replied, 

And  smiled  in  childish  glee, 
"Is  on  the  sunny  mountain  side, 

Where  soft  winds  wander  free." 
O,  blessings  fall  on  artless  youth, 

And  all  its  rosy  hours, 
When  every  word  is  joy  and  truth, 

And  treasures  live  in  flowers. 

"  Where  is  thy  home  ?"  I  asked  of  one 

Who  bent,  with  flushing  face, 
To  hear  a  warrior's  tender  tone 

In  the  wildwood's  secret  place. 
She  spoke  not,  but  her  varying  cheek 

The  tale  might  well  impart; 
The  home  of  her  young  spirit  meek 

Was  in  a  kindred  heart. 
Ah  !  souls  that  well  might  soar  above 

To  earth  will  fondly  cling, 
And  build  their  hopes  on  human  love, 

That  light  and  fragile  thing. 
NEW  EC.  S.—  23 


266  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

"  Where  is  thy  home,  thou  lonely  man  ?" 

I  asked  a  pilgrim  gray, 
Who  came  with  furrowed  brow,  and  wan, 

Slow  musing  on  his  way. 
He  paused,  and  with  a  solemn  mien 

Upturned  his  holy  eyes; 
"The  land  I  seek  thou  ne'er  hast  seen, 

My  home  is  in  the  skies ! 
O,  blessed,  thrice  blessed,  the  heart  must  be 

To  whom  such  thoughts  are  given, 
That  walks  from  worldly  fetters  free; 

Its  only  home  in  heaven. 


CLI.-J.  Q.  ADAMS.— No.  I. 

JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  American 
statesmen,  filled,  with  high  honor,  all  the  offices  in  the  gift  of  his 
country.  After  retiring  from  the  Presidency,  lie  was  chosen  by  his 
fellow-citizens  to  represent  them  again  in  Congress,  where  lie  died, 
'this  is  an  extract  from  a  speech,  delivered  in  the  Senate  on  the  occa- 
sion. 

SILENCE  is  in  the  capitol,  and  sorrow  has  thrown  its  pall 
over  the  land.  What  new  event  is  this  ?  Has  some 
Cromwell  closed  the  legislative  chambers  ?  Or  has  some 
Caesar,  returning  from  his  distant  conquests,  passed  the 
Rubicon,  seized  the  purple,  and  fallen  in  the  Senate  be- 
neath the  swords  of  self-appointed  executioners  of  his 
country's  vengeance  ?  No  !  Nothing  of  all  this. 

What  means,  then,  this  abrupt  and  fearful  silence? 
What  unlooked-for  calamity  has  quelled  the  debates  of  the 
Senate,  and  calmed  the  excitement  of  the  people  ?  An  old 
man,  whose  tongue  once,  indeed,  was  eloquent,  but  now, 
through  age,  had  well-nigh  lost  its  cunning,  has  fallen  into 
the  swoon  of  death.  He  was  not  an  actor  in  the  drama  of 
conquest,  nor  had  his  feeble  voice  yet  mingled  in  the  lofty 
argument, — 

"A  gray-haired  sire,  whose  eye  intent 
Was  on  the  visioned  future  bent." 

In  the  very  act  of  rising  to  debate,  he  fell  into  the  arms 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  267 

of  conscript  fathers  of  the  republic.  A  long  lethargy 
supervened  and  oppressed  his  senses.  Nature  rallied  the 
wasting  powers,  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  for  a  very 
brief  space.  But  it  was  long  enough  for  him.  The  re- 
kindled eye  showed  that  the  re-collected  mind  was  clear, 
calm,  and  vigorous.  His  weeping  family,  and  his  sorrowing 
compeers,  were  there.  He  surveyed  the  scene,  and  knew 
at  once  its  fatal  import.  He  had  left  no  duty  unperformed. 
He  had  no  wish  unsatisfied  ;  no  ambition  unattained  j  no 
regret,  no  sorrow,  no  fear,  no  remorse.  He  could  not 
shake  off  the  dews  of  death,  that  gathered  on  his  brow. 
He  could  not  pierce  the  thick  shades  that  rose  up  before 
him. 

But  he  knew  that  eternity  lay  close  by  the  shores  of 
time.  He  knew  that  his  Redeemer  lived.  Eloquence,  even 
in  that  hour,  inspired  him  with  his  ancient  sublimity  of  ut- 
ierance.  "Tins,"  said  the  dying  man,  "THIS  is  THE  END 
OF  EARTH."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  added,  "  I 
AM  CONTENT."  Angels  might  well  draw  aside  the  curtains 
of  the  skies  to  look  down  on  such  a  scene ;  a  scene  that 
approximated  even  to  that  scene  of  unapproachable  sub- 
limity, not  to  be  recalled  without  reverence,  when  in  mor- 
tal agony,  one  who  spoke  as  never  man  spake,  said,  "  IT 
IS  FINISHED."  FEOM  SEWAED. 


CLII.— J.  Q.  ADAMS..— No.  IT. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  a  speech,  delivered  in  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, on  the  same  occasion  as  the  preceding,  by  Holmes,  a  mem- 
ber from  South  Carolina. 

THE  mingled  tones  of  sorrow,  like  the  voice  of  many 
waters,  have  come  unto  us  from  a  sister  state;  Massachu- 
setts, weeping  for  her  honored  son.  It  is  meet,  that  in 
this  the  day  of  our  affliction,  we  should  mingle  our  griefs. 
When  a  great  man  falls,  the  nation  mourns.  When  a 
patriarch  is  removed,  the  people  weep.  Ours,  my  associates, 
is  no  common  bereavement.  The  chain,  which  linked  our 
hearts  with  the  gifted  spirits  of  former  times,  has  been 


268  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

suddenly  snapped.  The  lips,  from  which  flowed  those  liv- 
ing and  glorious  truths  that  our  fathers  uttered,  are  closed 
in  death. 

Yes,  my  friends,  Death  has  been  among  us!  He  has  not 
entered  the  humble  cottage  of  some  unknown,  ignoble  peas- 
ant. He  has  knocked  audibly  at  the  palace  of  a  nation  ! 
His  footstep  has  been  heard  in  the  halls  of  state  !  He  has 
cloven  down  his  victim  in  the  midst  of  the  councils  of  a 
people.  He  has  borne  in  triumph  from  among  you  the 
gravest,  wisest,  most  reverend  head.  Ah !  he  has  taken 
him  as  a  trophy,  who  was  once  chief  over  many  statesmen, 
adorned  with  virtue,  and  learning,  and  truth.  He  has 
borne  at  his  chariot  wheels  a  renowned  one  of  the  earth. 

How  often  we  have  crowded  into  that  aisle,  and  clustered 
around  that  now  vacant  desk,  to  listen  to  the  counsels  of 
wisdom  as  they  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  venerable  sage, 
we  can  all  remember,  for  it  was  but  of  yesterday.  But 
what  a  change!  How  wondrous!  how  sudden!  'Tis  like 
a  vision  of  the  night.  That  form  which  we  beheld  but  a 
few  days  since,  is  now  cold  in  death ! 

But  the  last  sabbath,  and  in  this  hall  he  worshiped  with 
others.  Now,  his  spirit  mingles  with  the  noble  army  of 
martyrs  and  the  just  made  perfect,  in  the  eternal  adoration 
of  the  living  God.  With  him,  "  this  is  the  end  of  earth." 
He  sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  He  is  gone, 
and  forever !  The  sun  that  ushers  in  the  morn  of  that 
next  holy  day,  while  it  gilds  the  lofty  dome  of  the  capitol, 
shall  rest  with  soft  and  mellow  light  upon  the  consecrated 
spot,  beneath  whose  turf  forever  lies  the  PATRIOT  FATHER 
and  the  PATRIOT  SAGE.  FROM  HOLMES. 


CLHL— MEN  WHO  NEVER  DIE. 

WARREN;  a  General  in  the  American  army,  who  was  killed  at 
Bunker  Hill,  one  of  the  first  victims  of  the  Revolution. 

THE  heroes  of  the  past,  we  dismiss  not  to  the  chambers 
of  forgetfulness  and  death.  What  we  admired,  and  prized, 
and  venerated  in  them,  can  never  be  forgotten.  I  had  al- 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  269 

most  said  that  they  are  now  beginning  to  live ;  to  live  that 
life  of  unimpaired  influence,  of  unclouded  fame,  of  un- 
mingled  happiness,  for  which  their  talents  and  services 
were  destined.  Such  men  do  not,  can  not  die.  To  be  cold 
and  breathless;  to  feel  not  and  speak  not;  this  is  not  the 
end  of  existence  to  the  men  who  have  breathed  their  spirits 
into  the  institutions  of  their  country,  who  have  stamped 
their  characters  on  the  pillars  of  the  age,  who  have  poured 
their  hearts'  blood  into  the  channels  of  the  public  pros- 
perity. 

Tell  me,  ye  who  tread  the  sods  of  yon  sacred  hight,  is 
Warren  dead?  Can  you  not  still  see  him,  not  pale  and 
prostrate,  the  blood  of  his  gallant  heart  pouring  out  of  his 
ghastly  wound,  but  moving  resplendent  over  the  field  of 
honor,  with  the  rose  of  heaven  upon  his  cheek,  and  the 
fire  of  liberty  in  his  eye? 

Tell  me,  ye  who  make  your  pious  pilgrimage  to  the 
shades  of  Vernon,  is  Washington  indeed  shut  up  in  that 
cold  and  narrow  house?  That  which  made  these  men,  and 
men  like  these,  can  not  die.  ^fhe  hand  that  traced  the 
charter  of  independence  is,  indeed,  motionless.  The  elo- 
quent lips  that  sustained  it  are  hushed.  But  the  lofty 
spirits  that  conceived,  resolved,  and  maintained  it,  and 
which  alone,  to  such  men,  "make  it  life  to  live"  these  can 
not  expire. 

"  These  shall  resist  the  empire  of  decay, 
When  time  is  o'er,  and  worlds  have  passed  away; 
Cold  in  the  dust  the  perished  heart  may  lie, 
But  that  which  warmed  it  once,  can  never  die." 

FROM  EVEKETT. 


CLIY.— I  GATHER  THEM  IN. 

NIGH  to  a  grave  that  was  newly  made, 
Leaned  a  sexton  old  on  his  earth-worn  spade: 
His  work  was  done,  and  he  paused  to  wait 
The  funeral  train  through  the  open  gate : 
A  relic  of  by-gone  days  was  he, 
And  his  locks  were  white  as  the  foamy  sea; 


270  MCGTJFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

And  these  words  came  from  his  lips  so  thin, 
"I  gather  them  in!     I  gather  them  in!" 

"I  gather  them  in!  for,  man  and  boy, 

Year  after  year  of  grief  and  joy, 

I've  builded  the  houses  that  lie  around, 

In  every  nook  of  this  burial  ground. 

Mother  and  daughter,  father  and  son, 

Come  to  my  solitude,  one  by  one; 

But  come  they  strangers  or  come  they  kin, 

I  gather  them  in !     I  gather  them  in ! 

"Many  are  with  me,  but  still  I'm  alone! 

I  am  king  of  the  dead,  and  I  make  my  throne 

On  a  monument  slab  of  marble  cold, 

And  my  scepter  of  rule  is  the  spade  I  hold. 

Come  they  from  cottage  or  come  they  from  hall, 

Mankind  are  my  subjects;  all,  all,  all! 

Let  them  loiter  in  pleasure  or  toilfully  spin; 

I  gather  them  in  !     I  gather  them  in ! 

"I  gather  them  in,  and  their  final  rest, 
Is  here,  down  here  in  the  Earth's  dark  breast;" 
And  the  sexton  ceased,  for  the  funeral  train 
Wound  mutely  over  that  solemn  plain: 
And  I  said  to  my  heart,  when  time  is  told, 
A  mightier  voice  than  that  sexton's  old, 
Will  sound  o'er  the  last  trump's  dreadful  din; 
"I  gather  them  in!     I  gather  them  in!" 


CLV.— BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO. 

/ 

BERNARDO  I>EL  CARPIO,  a  celebrated  Spanish  warrior,  having  vainly 
endeavored  to  secure  the  release  of  his  father,  imprisoned  by  king 
Alphonso,  at  last,  resorted  to  arms.  The  war  proved  so  destructive, 
that  the  king,  forced  by  his  nobles,  solemnly  promised  to  restore  to 
Bernardo  his  father,  upon  the  surrender  of  his  paternal  castle  of  Car- 
pio.  The  following  ballad  explains  the  rest. 

THE  warrior  bowed  his  crested  head,  and  tamed  his  heart  of  fire, 
And  sued  the  haughty  king  to  free  his  long-imprisoned  sire; 
"I  bring  thee  here  my  fortress-keys,  I  bring  my  captive  train, 
I  pledge  thee  faith,  my  liege,  my  lord!   0!  break  my  father's 
chain !" 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  271 

"Rise!  rise!  even  now  thy  father  comes,  a  ransomed  man,  this 

day !  [way." 

Mount  thy  good  horse;    and  thou   and  I  will   meet  him  on  his 
Then  lightly  rose  that  loyal  son,  and  bounded  on  his  steed, 
And  urged,  as  if  with  lance  in  rest,  the  charger's  foamy  speed. 

And,  lo!    from  far,  as  on  they  pressed,  there   came  a  glittering 

band, 

With  one  that  'mid  them  stately  rode,  as  a  leader  in  the  land: 
"Now  haste,  Bernardo,  haste!  for  there,  in  very  truth,  is  he, 
The  father  whom  thy  faithful  heart  hath  yearned  so  long  to  see." 

His  dark  eye  flashed,  his  proud  breast  heaved,  his  cheek's  hue 
came  and  went; 

He  reached  that  gray -haired  chieftain's  side,  and  there,  dis- 
mounting, bent; 

A  lowly  knee  to  earth  he  bent,  his  father's  hand  he  took: 

What  was  there  in  its  touch  that  all  his  fiery  spirit  shook? 

That  hand  was  cold,  a  frozen  thing;   it  dropped  from  his  like 

lead! 

He  looked  up  to  the  face  above,  the  face  was  of  the  dead ! 
A  plume  waved  o'er  the  noble  brow,  the  brow  was  fixed  and 

white ; 
He  met,  at  last,  his  father's  eyes,  but  in  them  was  no  sight ! 

Up  from  the  ground  he  sprang  and  gazed ;  but  who  could  paint 

that  gaze  ? 

They  hushed  their  very  hearts,  that  saw  its  horror  and  amaze : 
They  might  have   chained  him,  as    before   that   stony  form   he 

stood ;  [blood. 

For  the  power  was  stricken  from  his  arm,  and  from  his  lip  the 

"Father!"  at  length,  he  murmured  low,  and  wept  like  childhood 

then: 

Talk  not  of  grief  till  thou  hast  seen  the  tears  of  warlike  men ! 
He  thought  on  all  his  glorious  hopes,  and  all  his  young  renown ; 
He  flung  his  falchion  from  his  side,  and  in  the  dust  sat  down. 

Then  covering  with  his  steel-gloved  hands  his  darkly  mournful 

brow ;  [now ; 

"No  more,  there  is  no  more,"  he  said,  "to  lift  the  sword  for, 
My  king  is  false !  my  hope  betrayed !  My  father !  0  !  the  worth, 
The  glory,  and  the  loveliness,  are  passed  away  from  earth! 


272  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

"I  thought  to  stand  where  banners  waved,  my  sire,  beside  thee, 

yet; 
I  would  that  there  our  kindred  blood  on  Spain's  free  soil  had 

met! 
Thou  wouldst  have   known  my  spirit,  then;  for  thee  my  fields 

were  won; 
And  thou  hast  perished  in  thy  chains,  as  though  thou  hadst  no 

son!" 

Then,  starting  from   the  ground  once  more,  he  seized  the  mon- 
arch's rein, 

Amid  the  pale  and  wildered  looks  of  all  the  courtier  train; 
And  with  a  fierce,  o'ermastering  grasp,  the  rearing  war-horse  led, 
And  sternly  set  them  face  to  face,  the  king  before  the  dead: 

"Came  I  not  forth,  upon  thy  pledge,  my  father's  hand  to  kiss? 
Be  still,  and  gaze  thou  on,  false  king !  and  tell  me  what  is  this  ? 
The  voice,  the  glance,  the  heart  I  sought,  give  answer,  where  are 

they? 
If  thou  wouldst  clear  thy  perjured  soul,  send  life  through  this 

cold  clay. 

"Into  these  glassy  eyes  put  light:  be  still!  keep  down  thine  ire! 
Bid  these  white  lips  a  blessing  speak ;  this  earth  is  not  my  sire : 
Give  me  back  him  for  whom  I  strove,  for  whom  my  blood  was 

shed! 
Thou   canst  not  ?   and  a  king !     His  dust  be  mountains  on  thy 

head !" 

He  loosed  the  steed :  his  slack  hand  fell ;  upon  the  silent  face 
He  cast  one  long,  deep,  troubled  look,  then  turned  from  that 

sad  place. 

His  hope  was  crushed,  his  after  fate,  untold  in  martial  strain: 
His  banner  led  the  spears  no  more,  amid  the  hills  of  Spain. 

FROM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


CLVL—  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  AMERICANS. 

THIS  lovely  land,  this  glorious  liberty,  these  benign  in- 
stitutions, the  dear  purchase  of  our  fathers,  are  ours ;  ours 
to  enjoy,  ours  to  preserve,  ours  to  transmit.  Generations 
past,  and  generations  to  come,  hold  us  responsible  for  this 
sacred  trust.  Our  fathers  from  behind  admonish  us  with 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  273 

their  anxious  paternal  voices.  Posterity  calls  out  to  us, 
from  the  bosom  of  the  future.  The  world  turns  hither  its 
solicitous  eyes.  All,  all  conjure  us  to  act  wisely  and  faith- 
fully in  the  relation  which  we  sustain. 

We  can  never,  indeed,  pay  the  debt  which  is  upon  us. 
But  by  virtue,  by  morality,  by  religion,  by  the  cultivation 
of  every  good  principle  and  every  good  habit,  we  may  hope 
to  enjoy  the  blessing,  through  our  day,  and  to  leave  it  un- 
impaired to  our  children.  Let  us  feel  deeply  how  much 
of  what  we  are  and  of  what  we  possess,  we  owe  to  this 
liberty,  and  these  institutions  of  government. 

Nature  has,  indeed,  given  us  a  soil  which  yields  boun- 
teously to  the  hands  of  industry.  The  mighty  and  fruit- 
ful ocean  is  before  us,  and  the  skies  over  our  heads  shed 
health  and  vigor.  But  what  are  lands,  and  seas,  and  skies, 
to  civilized  men  without  society,  without  knowledge,  with- 
out morals,  without  religious  culture.  And  how  can  these 
be  enjoyed  in  all  their  extent,  and  all  their  excellence, 
but  under  the  protection  of  wise  institutions  and  a  free 
government  ? 

There  is  not  one  of  us,  there  is  not  one  of  us  here  pre- 
sent, who  does  not  at  this  moment,  and  at  every  moment, 
experience  in  his  own  condition,  and  in  the  condition  of 
those  most  near  and  dear  to  him,  the  influence  and  the 
benefit  of  this  liberty,  and  these  institutions.  Let  us,  then, 
acknowledge  the  blessing.  Let  us  feel  it  deeply  and  power- 
fully. Let  us  cherish  a  strong  affection  for  it,  and  resolve 
to  maintain  and  perpetuate  it.  The  blood  of  our  fathers 
— let  it  not  have  been  shed  in  vain.  The  great  hope  of 
posterity — let  it  not  be  blasted.  FROM  WEBSTER. 


CLVIL— PUBLIC  FAITH. 

To  expatiate  on  the  value  of  public  faith  may  pass  with 
some  men  for  declamation.  To  such  men  I  have  nothing 
to  say.  To  others  I  will  urge:  can  any  circumstance  mark 
upon  a  people  more  turpitude  and  debasement?  Can  any 
thing  tend  more  to  make  men  think  themselves  mean,  or 


274  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

degrade  to  a  lower  point  their  estimation  of  virtue,  and 
their  standard  of  action?  It  would  not  merely  demoralize. 
mankind.  It  tends  to  break  all  the  ligaments  of  society,  to 
dissolve  that  mysterious  charm  which  attracts  individuals 
to  the  nation,  and  to  inspire  in  its  stead  a  repulsive  sense 
of  shame  and  disgust. 

What  is  patriotism  ?  Is  it  narrow  affection  for  the  spot 
where  a  man  was  born  ?  Are  the  very  clods  where  we 
tread,  entitled  to  this  ardent  preference  because  they  are 
greener?  No!  this  is  not  the  character  of  the  virtue.  It 
soars  higher  for  its  object.  It  is  an  extended  self-love, 
mingling  with  all  the  enjoyments  of  life,  and  twisting  itself 
with  the  minutest  filaments  of  the  heart.  It  is  thus  that 
we  obey  the  laws  of  society,  because  they  are  the  laws  of 
virtue.  In  their  authority  we  see,  not  the  array  of  force 
and  terror,  but  the  venerable  image  of  our  country's 
honor. 

Every  good  citizen  makes  that  honor  his  own,  and  cher- 
ishes it,  not  only  as  precious,  but  as  sacred.  He  is  willing 
to  risk  his  life  in  its  defense,  and  is  conscious  that  he 
gains  protection  while  he  gives  it.  For,  what  rights  of  a 
citizen  will  be  deemed  inviolable,  when  a  state  renounces 
the  principles  that  constitute  their  security  ?  Or,  if  his  life 
should  not  be  invaded,  what  would  its  enjoyments  be  in  a 
country,  odious  in  the  eyes  of  strangers,  and  dishonored  in 
his  own?  Could  he  look  with  affection  and  veneration  to 
such  a  country  as  his  parent?  The  sense  of  having  one 
would  die  within  him.  He  would  blush  for  his  patriotism, 
if  he  retained  any,  and  justly,  for  it  would  be  a  vice.  He 
would  be  a  banished  man  in  his  native  land. 

I  see  no  exception  to  the  respect  that  is  paid  among  na- 
tions to  the  law  of  good  faith.  It  is  observed  by  barba- 
rians. A  whiff  of  tobacco-smoke,  or  a  string  of  beads 
gives  not  merely  binding  force,  but  sanctity  to  treaties. 
Even  in  Algiers  a  truce  may  be  bought  for  money ;  but 
when  ratified,  even  Algiers  is  too  wise  or  too  just  to  dis- 
own and  annul  its  obligation. 

If  there  could  be  a  resurrection  from  the  foot  of  the 
gallows,  if  the  victims  of  justice  could  live  again,  and  form 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.    ,  275 

a  society,  they  would  soon  find  themselves  obliged  to  make 
justice,  that  justice  under  which  they  fell,  the  fundamental 
law  of  their  state.  They  would  perceive  it  was  their  inter- 
est to  make  others  respect,  and  they  would  therefore  soon 
pay  some  respect  themselves,  to  the  obligations  of  good 
faith.  Let  me  not  even  imagine,  that  a  republican  govern- 
ment, whose  origin  is  right,  and  whose  daily  discipline  is 
duty,  can,  upon  solemn  debate,  make  its  option  to  be  faith- 
less :  can  dare  to  act  what  despots  dare  not  avow. 

FROM  FISHER  AMES. 


CLVIII.— PUBLIC  VIRTUE. 

THERE  is  a  sort  of  courage,  which,  I  frankly  confess, 
I  do  not  possess;  a  boldness  to  which  I  dare  not  aspire,  a 
valor  which  I  can  not  covet.  I  can  not  lay  myself  down  in 
the  way  of  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  my  country.  That 
I  have  not  the  courage  to  do.  I  can  not  interpose  the 
power  with  which  I  may  be  invested ;  a  power  conferred, 
not  for  my  personal  benefit,  nor  for  my  aggrandizement,  but 
for  my  country's  good;  to  check  her  onward  march  to 
greatness  and  glory.  I  have  not  courage  enough.  I  am 
too  cowardly  for  that. 

I  would  not,  I  dare  not,  in  the  exercise  of  such  a  threat, 
lie  down,  and  place  my  body  across  the  path  that  leads  my 
country  to  prosperity  and  happiness.  This  is  a  sort  of 
courage  widely  different  from  that,  which  a  man  may  dis- 
play in  his  private  conduct  and  personal  relations.  Per- 
sonal or  private  courage  is  totally  distinct  from  that  higher 
and  nobler  courage,  which  prompts  the  patriot  to  offer  him- 
self a  voluntary  sacrifice  to  his  country's  good. 

Apprehensions  of  the  imputation  of  the  want  of  firm- 
ness, sometimes  impel  us  to  perform  rash  and  inconsiderate 
acts.  It  is  the  greatest  courage  to  be  able  to  bear  the  im- 
putation of  the  want  of  courage.  But  pride,  vanity,  ego- 
tism, so  unamiable  and  offensive  in  private  life,  are  vices 
which  partake  of  the  character  of  crimes,  in  the  conduct 


276  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

of  public  affairs.  The  unfortunate  victim  of  these  passions 
can  not  see  beyond  the  little,  petty,  contemptible  circle  of 
his  own  personal  interests.  All  his  thoughts  are  withdrawn 
from  his  country,  and  concentrated  on  his  consistency,  his 
firmness,  himself! 

The  high,  the  exalted,  the  sublime  emotions  of  a  patriot- 
ism which,  soaring  toward  Heaven,  rises  far  above  all  mean, 
low,  or  selfish  things,  and  is  absorbed  by  one  soul-transport- 
ing thought  of  the  good  and  the  glory  of  one's  country, 
are  never  felt  in  his  impenetrable  bosom.  That  patriotism 
which,  catching  its  inspirations  from  the  immortal  God, 
and,  leaving  at  an  immeasurable  distance  all  lesser,  grovel- 
ing, personal  interests  and  feelings,  animates  and  prompts 
to  deeds  of  self-sacrifice,  of  valor,  of  devotion,  and  of  death 
itself,  that  is  public  virtue ;  that  is  the  noblest,  the  sublimest 
of  all  public  virtues  !  FROM  HENRY  CLAY. 


CL1X.— DUTY  OF  A  CHIEF  MAGISTRATE. 

WE  live  under  a  constitution.  It  has  made  us  what  we 
are.  What  has  carried  the  American  flag  all  over  the 
world?  What  is  it  now  that  represents  us  so  respectably 
all  over  Europe,  and  all  over  the  world?  What  is  it  but 
the  result  of  those  commercial  regulations  which  bound  us 
all  together,  and  made  our  commerce  the  same  commerce ; 
which  made  all  the  States, — New  York,  Massachusetts, 
South  Carolina, — in  the  aspect  of  our  foreign  relations, 
the  same  country,  without  division,  distraction,  or  separa- 
tion? 

Now,  this  was  the  original  design  of  the  constitution. 
We,  in  our  day,  must  see  that  this  spirit  is  made  to  per- 
vade the  whole  administration  of  the  government.  The 
constitution  of  the  United  States,  to  keep  us  united,  to 
keep  flowing  in  our  hearts  a  fraternal  feeling,  must  be  ad- 
ministered in  the  spirit  of  it. 

And,  if  I  wish  to  have  the  spirit  of  the  constitution,  in 
its  living,  speaking,  animated  form,  I  would  refer  always, 
always,  to  the  administration  of  the  first  president,  George 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  277 

"Washington.  If  I  were  now  to  form  the  ideal  of  a  patriot 
President,  I  would  draw  his  master  strokes,  and  copy  his  de- 
sign. I  would  present  this  picture  before  me  as  a  constant 
study  for  life.  I  would  present  his  policy,  alike  liberal,  just, 
narrowed  down  to  no  sectional  interests,  bound  down  to  no 
personal  objects,  held  to  no  locality,  but  broad,  and  gen- 
erous, and  open;  as  expansive  as  the  air  which  is  wafted 
by  the  winds  of  heaven  from  one  part  of  the  country  to 
another. 

I  would  draw  a  picture  of  his  .foreign  policy ;  just, 
steady,  stately,  but,  withal,  proud,  and  lovely,  and  glorious. 
No  man  could  say,  in  his  day.  that  the  broad  escutchion 
of  the  honor  of  the  Union  could  receive  either  injury  or 
damage,  or  even  contumely  or  disrespect.  His  own  char-' 
acter  gave  character  to  the  foreign  relations  of  the  country. 
He  upheld  every  interest  of  his  country,  in  even  the  proud- 
est nations  of  Europe ;  .and,  while  resolutely  just,  he  was 
resolutely  determined  that  no  plume  of  her  renown  should 
ever  be  defaced. 

A  wise  and  prudent  shipmaster  makes  it  his  first  duty 
to  preserve  the  vessel  that  carries  him  and  his  merchandise; 
to  keep  her  afloat,  to  conduct  her  to  her  destined  port  with 
entire  security  of  property  and  life.  That  is  his  first  object; 
and  that  should  be  the  object,  and  is,  of  every  chief  mag- 
istrate of  the  United  States  who  has  a  proper  appreciation 
of  his  duty. 

It  is  to  preserve  the  constitution  which  bears  him,  which 
sustains  the  government,  without  which  every  thing  goes 
to  the  bottom.  It  is  to  preserve  that,  and  keep  it,  to  the 
utmost  of  his  ability,  off  the  rocks  and  shoals,  and  away 
from  the  quicksands.  To  preserve  that,  he  exercises  the 
caution  of  the  experienced  shipmaster ;  he  suffers  nothing 
to  betray  his  watchfulness,  to  draw  him  aside  from  the  joint 
interests  committed  to  his  care,  and  the  great  object  in 
view. 

c:  Though  pleased  to  see  the  dolphins  play, 
He  minds  his  compass  and  his  way ; 
And  oft  he  throws  the  wary  lead, 
To  sec  what  dangers  may  be  hid. 


278  MCQUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

At  helm  he  makes  his  reason  sit; 
His  crew  of  passions  all  submit : 
Thus  safe  he  steers  his  barge,  and  sails 
On  upright  keel,  and  meets  the  gales." 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


CLX.— TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

WAKE  your  harp's  music !  louder,  higher, 

And  pour  your  strains  along; 
And  smite  again  each  quivering  wire 

In  all  the  pride  of  song! 
Shout  like  those  godlike  men  of  old, 

Who,  daring  storm  and  foe, 
On  this  blessed  soil  their  anthem  rolled, 

TWO   HUNDRED    YEARS    AGO ! 

From  native  shores  by  tempests  driven, 

They  sought  a  purer  sky, 
And  found,  beneath  a  milder  heaven, 

The  home  of  liberty! 
An  altar  rose,  and  prayers;  a  ray 

Broke  on  their  night  of  woe, 
The  harbinger  of  Freedom's  day, 

TWO   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO  ! 

They  knelt  them  on  the  desert  sand, 

By  waters  cold  and  rude, 
Alone  upon  the  dreary  strand 

Of  oceaned  solitude ! 
They  stood  upon  the  red  man's  sod, 

'Neath  heaven's  unpillared  bow, 
With  home,  a  country,  and  a  God, 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO  ! 

The  warrior's  red  right  arm  was  bared, 

His  eyes  flashed  deep  and  wild: 
Was  there  a  foreign  footstep  dared 

To  seek  his  home  and  child? 
The  dark  chiefs  yelled  alarm  and  swore 

The  white  man's  blood  should  flow, 
And  his  hewn  bones  should  bleach  their  shore, 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO  ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  279 

But,  lo!  the  warrior's  eye  grew  dim, 

His  arm  was  left  alone ; 
The  still,  bleak  wilds  which  sheltered  him, 

No  longer  were  his  own ! 
Time  fled;  and  on  the  hallowed  ground 

His  highest  pine  lies  low; 
And  cities  swell  where  forests  frowned, 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO  ! 

Oh !  stay  not  to  recount  the  tale ; 

'Twas  bloody,  and  'tis  past; 
The  firmest  cheek  might  well  grow  pale, 

To  hear  it  to  the  last 
The  God  of  heaven,  who  prospers  us, 

Could  bid  a  nation  grow, 
And  shield  us  from  the  red  man's  curse, 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO  ! 

Come,  then,  great  shades  of  glorious  men, 

From  your  still  glorious  grave ! 
Look  on  your  own  proud  land  again, 

O  bravest  of  the  brave ! 
We  call  you  from  each  moldering  tomb, 

And  each  blue  wave  below, 
To  bless  the  world  ye  snatched  from  doom, 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO  ! 

FROM  MELLEN. 


CLXI— RICH  AND  POOR 

I  SEE,  in  those  vehicles  which  carry  to  the  people  senti- 
ments from  high  places,  plain  declarations  that  the  present 
controversy  is  but  a  strife  between  one  part  of  the  com- 
munity and  another.  I  hear  it  boasted  as>  the  unfailing 
security,  the  solid  ground,  never  to  be  shaken,  on  which 
recent  measures  rest,  that  the  poor  naturally  hate  the  rich. 

I  know  that,  under  the  shade  of  the  roofs  of  the  Capi- 
tol, within  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  among  men  sent 
here  to  devise  means  for  the  public  safety  and  the  public 
good,  it  has  been  vaunted  forth,  as  matter  of  boast  and 
triumph,  that  one  cause  existed,  powerful  enough  to  sup- 


280  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

port  everything  and  to  defend  everything,  and  that  was, — 
the  natural  hatred  of  the  poor  to  the  ricli, 

I  pronounce  the  author  of  such  sentiments  to  be  guilty 
of  attempting  a  detestable  fraud  on  the  community ;  a 
double  fraud  ;  a  fraud  which  is  to  cheat  men  out  of  their 
understandings. 

"  The  natural  hatred  of  the  poor  to  the  rich!"  It  shall  not 
be  till  the  last  moment  of  my  existence  ;  it  shall  be  only 
when  I  am  drawn  to  the  verge  of  oblivion,  when  I  shall 
cease  to  have  respect  or  affection  for  anything  on  earth, 
that  I  will  believe  the  people  of  the  United  States  capable 
of  being  effectually  deluded,  cajoled,  and  driven  about  in 
herds,  by  such  abominable  frauds  as  this. 

If  they  shall  sink  to  that  point,  if  they  so  far  cease  to 
be  men,  thinking  men,  intelligent  men,  as  to  yield  to  such 
pretenses  and  such  clamor,  they  will  be  slaves  already ; 
slaves  to  their  own  passions,  slaves  to  the  fraud  and 
knavery  of  pretended  friends.  They  will  deserve  to  be 
blotted  out  of  all  the  records  of  freedom.  They  ought  not 
to  dishonor,  the  cause  of  self-government,  by  attempting 
any  longer  to  exercise  it.  They  ought  to  keep  their  un- 
worthy hands  entirely  off  from  the  cause  of  republican  lib- 
erty, if  they  are  capable  of  being  the  victims  of  artifices 
so  shallow;  of  tricks  so  stale,  so  threadbare,  so  often 
practiced,  so  much  worn  out,  on  serfs  and  slaves. 

"  The  natural  hatred  of  the  poor  against  the  rich!"  "The 
danger  of  a  moneyed  aristocracy  !  A  power  as  great  and 
dangerous  as  that  resisted  by  the  Revolution !"  "  A  call 
to  a  new  Declaration  of  Independence !" 

I  admonish  the  people  against  the  objects  of  outcries 
like  these.  I  admonish  every  industrious  laborer  in  the 
country  to  be  on  his  guard  against  such  delusions.  I  tell 
him  the  attempt  is  to  play  off  his  passions  against  his  in- 
terests, and  to  prevail  on  him,  in  the  name  of  liberty,  to 
destroy  all  the  fruits  of  liberty;  in  the  name  of  patriotism, 
to  injure  and  afflict  his  country;  and  in  the  name  of  his 
own  independence,  to  destroy  that  very  independence,  and 
make  him  a  bcygar  and  a  slave!  FROM  WEBSTER. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  281 


CLXII— NATURE  AND  ART. 

ALTHOUGH  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
The  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train ; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 
One  native  charm  than  all  the  gloss  of  art 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  nature  has  its  play, 
The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway. 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfined. 
But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  arrayed, 
In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain ; 
And  e'en  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy, 
The  heart,  distrusting,  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen,  who  survey 
The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay, 
'T  is  yours  to  judge  how  wide  the  limits  stand 
Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 
Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore, 
And  shouting  folly  hails  them  from  her  shore. 
Hoards  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound, 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains.     This  wealth  is  but  a  name, 
That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 

Not  so  the  loss.     The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 
Takes  up  the  space  that  many  poor  supplied ; 
Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds. 
The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robbed  the  neighboring  fields  of  half  their  growth. 

His  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green; 
Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies, 
For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies, 
While  thus  the  land,  adorned  for  pleasure  all, 
In  barren  splendor  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

As  some  fair  female,  unadorned  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 
NEW  EC.  S. — 24 


282  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

Slights  every  borrowed  charm  that  dress  supplies, 

Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes. 

But  when  those  charms  are  past — for  charms  are  frail- 

When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 

In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress. 

Thus  fares  the  land  by  luxury  betrayed, 
In  nature's  simplest  charms,  at  first,  arrayed; 
But,  verging  to  decline,  its  splendors  rise, 
Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise; 
While,  scourged  by  famine,  from  the  smiling  land, 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band; 
And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save, 
The  country  blooms — a  garden  and  a  grave. 

FROM  GOLDSMITH. 


CLXIIL—  CRUELTY. 

I  WOULD  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends, 

(Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 

Yet  wanting  sensibility,)  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail, 

That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path ; 

But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarned, 

Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 

The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight, 
And  charged  perhaps,  with  venom,  that  intrudes 
A  visiter  unwelcome  into  scenes, 
Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  the  alcove, 
The  chamber,  or  refectory,  may  die. 
A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so,  when  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 
And  guiltless  of  offense  they  range  the  air, 
Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  field. 
There,  they  are  privileged.     And  he  that  hurts 
Or  harms  them  there,  is  guilty  of  a  wrong; 
Disturbs  the  economy  of  nature's  realm, 
Who,  when  she  formed,  designed  them  an  abode. 

The  sum  is  this.     If  man's  convenience,  health, 
Or  safety  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  283 

Are  paramount,  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 
Else  they  are  all,  the  meanest  things  that  are, 
As  free  to  live  and  to  enjoy  that  life, 
As  God  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first, 
Who  in  his  sovereign  wisdom  made  them  all. 
Ye,  therefore,  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 
To  love  it  too. 

The  spring  time  of  our  years 
Is  soon  dishonored  and  defiled,  in  most, 
By  budding  ills,  that  ask  a  prudent  hand 
To  check  them.     But,  alas !  none  sooner  shoots, 
If  unrestrained,  into  luxuriant  growth, 
Than  cruelty,  most  devilish  of  them  all. 
Mercy  to  him  that  shows  it,  is  the  rule 
And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act, 
By  which  Heaven  moves  in  pard'ning  guilty  man; 
And  he  that  shows  none,  being  ripe  in  years, 
And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits, 
Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it  in  his  turn. 

FROM  COWPER. 


CLXIV.— ROBIN  ROUGHHE AD. -SCENE  I. 

(Enter  Snack*,  with  a  letter  in  his  hand.) 

SnacJts.  A  letter  for  me  by  express!  What  can  it  be 
about  ?  Let  me  see  what  it  says.  (Reads.")  "  Sir.  This 
is  to  inform  —  Lord  Lackwit  died  —  an  heir  to  his  estate — 
son  called  Robin  Roughhead  —  legal  heir  —  put  him  in  im- 
mediate possession." 

Here 's  a  catastrophe  !  Robin  Roughhead  a  lord  !  My 
stewardship  has  done  pretty  well  for  me,  but  I  think  I 
shall  make  it  do  better  now.  I  know  this  Robin  very  well. 
He's  over-cunning,  I  am  afraid.  But  I'll  tickle  him.  He 
shall  marry  my  daughter.  Then  I  can  do  as  I  please.  I 
will  go  and  tell  him  the  news.  How  unfortunate  that  I 
did  not  make  friends  with  him  before.  He  has  no  great 
reason  to  like  me.  I  never  gave  him  any  thin£  but  hard 
words.  (Exit.) 


284  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 


CLXV.— ROBIN  ROUGHHEAD.— SCENE  II. 

CHARACTERS. — Robin  Roughhead;  Snacks;  and  villagers. 
(Robin  Roughhead  discovered  with  a  rake.) 

Robin.  Ah!  work,  work,  work!  all  day  long,  and  no 
such  thing  as  stopping  a  moment  to  rest!  for  there's  old 
Snacks,  the  steward,  always  upon  the  lookout;  and  if  he 
sees  one,  slap  he  has  it  down  in  his  book,  and  then  there 's 
sixpence  gone,  plump.  I  do  hate  that  old  chap,  and  that's 
the  truth  on't.  Now,  if  I  was  lord  of  this  place,  I'd  make 
one  rule ;  there  should  be  no  such  thing  as  work :  it  should 
be  one  long  holiday  all  the  year  round.  Your  great  folks 
have  strange  whims  in  their  heads,  that's  for  sartin.  I 
don't  know  what  to  make  of  'um,  not  I.  Now  there  's  all 
yon  great  park  there,  kept  for  his  lordship  to  look  at,  and 
his  lordship  has  not  seen  it  these  twelve  years.  Ah !  if  it 
was  mine,  I  'd  let  all  the  villagers  turn  their  cows  in  there, 
and  it  should  not  cost  them  a  farthing ;  then,  as  the  parson 
said  last  Sunday,  I  should  be  as  rich  as  any  in  the  land, 
for  I  should  have  the  blessings  of  the  poor.  Dang  it !  here 
comes  Snacks.  Now  I  shall  get  a  fine  jobation,  I  suppose. 

(Enter  Snacks,  lowing  very  obsequiously.    Robin  takes  his  hat 
off,  and  stands  staring  at  /ii'rn.) 

I  be  main  tired,  Master  Snacks;  so  I  stopt  to  rest  myself 
a  little.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  it.  (Aside.)  I  wonder  what 
the  dickens  he's  a  grinning  at. 

Snacks.  Excuse  it !  I  hope  your  lordship's  infinite 
goodness  and  condescension  will  excuse  your  lordship's 
most  obsequious,  devoted,  and  humble  servant,  Timothy 
Snacks,  who  is  come  into  the  presence  of  your  lordship, 
for  the  purpose  of  informing  your  lordship — 

Rob.  Lordship!  he,  he,  he!  Wall!  I  never  knew  as  I 
had  a  hump  before.  Why,  Master  Snacks,  you  grow  funny 
in  your  old  age. 

Snacks.  No,  my  lord,  I  know  my  duty  better.  I  should 
never  think  of  being  funny  with  a  lord. 

Rob.  What  lord?     Oh,  you    mean   the   Lord    Harry,   I 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  285 

suppose.  No,  no,  must  not  be  too  funny  with  him,  or 
he'll  be  after  playing  the  very  deuce  with  you. 

Snacks.  I  say,  I  should  never  think  of  jesting  with  a 
person  of  your  lordship's  dignified  character. 

Rob.  Dig — dig — what?  Why,  now  I  look  at  you,  I  see 
how  it  is  ;  you  are  mad.  I  wonder  what  quarter  the  moon  's 
in.  Dickens!  how  your  eyes  do  roll!  I  never  saw  you  so 
before.  How  came  they  to  let  you  out  alone? 

Snacks.  Your  lordship  is  most  graciously  pleased  to  be 
facetious. 

Rob.  Why,  what  gammon  are  you  at?  Don't  come 
near  me,  for  you've  been  bit  by  a  mad  dog;  I'm  sure  yo-u 
have. 

Snacks.  If  your  lordship  would  be  so  kind  as  to  read 
this  letter,  it  would  convince  your  lordship.  Will  your 
lordship  condescend  ? 

Rob.  Why,  I  would  condescend,  but  for  a  few  reasons, 
and  one  of  'em  is,  I  can't  read. 

Snacks.  I  think  your  lordship  is  perfectly  right;  for 
these  pursuits  are  too  low  for  one  of  your  lordship's  no- 
bility. 

Rob.  Lordship,  and  lordship  again  !  I  '11  tell  you  what, 
Master  Snacks;  let's  have  no  more  of  your  fun,  for  I 
won't  stand  it  any  longer,  for  all  you  be  steward  here :  my 
name's  Robin  Roughhead ;  and  if  you  don't  choose  to 
call  me  by  that  name,  I  shan't  answer  you,  that's  flat. 
(Aside.)  I  do  n't  like  him  well  enough  to  stand  his  jokes. 

Snacks.  Why,  then,  Master  Robin  be  so  kind  as  to 
attend,  while  I  read  this  letter.  (Reads.*)  "  Sir,  This  is  to 
inform  you,  that  my  Lord  Lackwit  died  this  morning,  after 
a  very  short  illness;  during  which  he  declared  that  he  had 
been  married,  and  had  an  heir  to  his  estate.  The  woman 
he  married  was  commonly  called  or  known  by  the  name  of 
Roughhead.  She  was  poor  and  illiterate,  and  through  mo- 
tives of  false  shame,  his  lordship  never  acknowledged  her 
as  his  wife.  She  has  been  dead  some  time  since,  and  left 
behind  her  a  son,  called  Robin  Roughhead.  Now,  this  said 
Robin  is  the  legal  heir  to  the  estate.  I  have  therefore  sent 
you  the  necessary  writings  to  put  him  into  immediate  pos- 


286  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

session,  according  to  his  lordship's  last  will  and  testament. 
Yours  to  command,  "  KIT  CODICIL,  Atty  at  Law." 

Rob.  What!  what!  all  mine?  The  houses,  the  trees, 
the  fields,  the  hedges,  the  ditches,  the  gates,  the  horses, 
the  dogs,  the  cats,  and  the  hens,  and  the  cows,  and  the 

pigs,  and  the what!  are  they,  are  they  all  mine? — and 

I,  Robin  Roughhead,  am  the  rightful  lord  of  all  this  es- 
tate? Do  n't  keep  me  a  minute,  now,  but  tell  me,  is  it  so? 
Make  haste,  tell  me,  quick,  quick! 

Snacks.  I  repeat  it,  the  whole  estate  is  yours. 

Rob.  Huzza!  huzza!  (Catches  of  SnacJcs'  hat.)  Set  the 

bells  a-ringing.  Set  the  ale  a-running.  Set go,  get 

my  hat  full  of  guineas  to  make  a  scramble  with.  Call  all 
the  tenants  together.  I'll  lower  their  rents — I'll — 

Snacks.  I  hope  your  lordship  will  do  me  the  favor  to — 

Rob.  Why,  that  may  be  as  it  happens.  I  can't  tell. 
(  Carelessly.) 

Snacks.  Will  your  lordship  dine  at  the  castle  to-day? 

Rob.  Yes. 

Snaclfs.  What  would  your  lordship  choose  for  dinner? 

Rob.  Beef-steaks  and  onions,  and  plenty  of  'em. 

Snacks.  Beef-steaks  and  onions !  What  a  dish  for  a 
lord !  (Aside.*)  He  '11  be  a  savory  bit  for  my  daughter, 
though. 

Rob.  What  are  you  at  there,  Snacks?  Go,  get  me  the 
guineas;  make  haste,  I'll  have  the  scramble,  and  then 
I  '11  go  to  Dolly  and  tell  tier  the  news. 

Snacks.  Dolly  !     Pray,  my  lord,  who 's  Dolly  ? 

Rob.  Why,  Dolly  is  to  be  my  lady,  and  your  mistress, 
if  I  find  you  honest  enough  to  keep  you  in  my  employ. 

Snacks.  (Aside.*)  He  rather  smokes  me.  I  have  a  beau- 
teous daughter,  who  is  allowed  to  be  the  very  pink  of  per- 
fection. 

Rob.  Hang  your  daughter  !  I  have  got  something  else 
to  think  of.  Do  n't  talk  to  me  of  your  daughter.  Stir  your 
stumps,  and  get  the  money. 

Snacks.  I  am  your  lordship's  most  obsequious.  (Aside.) 
Bless  me,  what  a  peer  of  the  realm !  (Exit.) 

Rob.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  What  work  I  will  make  in  the  vil- 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  287 

lage  !  Work !  no,  there  shall  be  no  such  thing  as  work  ; 
it  shall  be  all  play.  Where  shall  I  go  to  ?  I  '11  go  to 
no,  I  won't  go  there.  I  '11  go  to  Farmer  Hedge- 
stakes,  and  tell  him no,  I  '11  not  go  there,  I  '11  go — I  '11 

go  no  where;  yes,  I  will;  I'll  go  everywhere;  I'll  be 
neither  here  nor  there,  nor  anywhere  else.  How  pleased 
Dolly  will  be  when  she  hears — 

(Enter  Villagers,  shouting.) 

Dick,  Tom,  Jack,  how  are  you,  my  lads  ?  Here 's  news 
for  you !  Come,  stand  round,  make  a  ring,  and  I  '11  make 
a  bit  of  a  speech  to  you.  {They  all  get  round  him.)  First 
of  all,  I  suppose  Snacks  has  told  you  that  I  'm  your  land- 
lord? 

Villagers.  We  are  all  glad  of  it. 

Rob.  So  am  I;  and  I'll  make  you  all  happy.  I'll  lower 
all  your  rents. 

All.    Huzza  !  long  live  Lord  Robin  ! 

Rob.  You  shan't  pay  no  rent  at  all. 

All.    Huzza!  huzza!  long  live  Lord  Robin! 

Rob.  I  '11  have  no  poor  people  in  the  parish,  for  I  '11 
make  'em  all  rich ;  I  '11  have  no  widows,  for  I  '11  marry  'em 
all.  (All  shout.)  I  '11  have  no  orphan  children,  for  I  '11 
father  'em  all  myself;  and  if  that's  not  doing  as  a  lord 
should  do,  then  I  say  I  know  nothing  about  the  matter, 
that's  all. 

All.  Huzza  !  huzza  ! 

(Enter  Snacks.) 

Snacks.  I  have  brought  your  lordship  the  money. 
(Aside.)  He  means  to  make  'em  fly;  so  I  have  taken 
care  the  guineas  shall  be  all  light. 

Rob.  Now,  then,  young  and  old,  great  and  small,  little 
and  tall,  merry  men  all,  here's  among  you.  (Throws  the 
money  ;  they  scramble.)  Now  you  've  got  your  pockets  filled, 
come  to  the  castle,  and  I'll  fill  all  your  mouths  for  you. 
(Villagers  carry  him  off,  shouting.  Snacks  follows.) 


. 


£•*; 


xa3$ 

ITOUVBF. 


288  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

CLXVI.—  ROBIN  ROUGHHEAD.— SCENE.  III. 

CHARACTERS. — Robin;  Snacks;  and  servant. 
(Robin  sitting,  and  Snacks  waiting  on  him.     Enter  servant.) 

Serv.  PLEASE  you,  Master  Snacks,  here 's  John  the  carter 
says  he's  so  lame  he  can't  walk,  and  he  hopes  you'll  let 
him  have  the  pony,  to-morrow,  to  ride  by  the  wagon. 

Snacks.  Can't  walk,  can't  he?     Lame,  is  he? 

Serv.  Yes,  sir. 

Snacks.  And  what  does  he  mean  by  being  lame  at  this 
busy  time?  Tell  him  he  must  walk.  'T  is  my  will. 

Rob.  (Aside  to  Servant.}  You,  sir,  bring  me  John's  whip, 
will  you?  (Exit  Servant.)  That's  right,  Snacks.  The 
lazy  fellow,  what  business  has  he  to  be  lame  ? 

Snacks.  Oh,  please  your  lordship,  'tis  as  much  as  I  can 
do  to  keep  these  fellows  in  order. 

Rob.  Oh,  they  are  sad  dogs.  Not  walk,  indeed  !  I  never 
heard  of  such  impudence. 

Snacks.  Oh,  shameful,  shameful!  If  I  were  behind  him, 
I  'd  make  him  walk. 

(Enter  Servant,  with  a  whip,  which  he  gives  to  Robin.) 

Rob.  Come,  Snacks,  dance  me  a  hornpipe. 

Snacks.  What! 

Rob.  A  hornpipe. 

Snacks.  A  hornpipe !     I  can't  dance,  my  lord. 

Rob.  Come,  none  of  your  nonsense.  I  know  you  can 
dance.  Why,  you  was  made  for  dancing ;  there's  a  leg  and 
foot.  Come,  begin  ! 

Snacks.  Here  's  no  music. 

Rob.  Isn't  there?  Then  I'll  soon  make  some.  Look  ye, 
here's  my  fiddlestick.  How  d'ye  like  it?  Come,  Snacks, 
you  must  dance.  'T  is  my  will.  (  Whips  him.) 

Snacks.   Indeed,  I'm  not  able. 

Rob.  Not  able  ?  Oh,  shameful !  shameful !  Come,  come, 
you  must  dance.  'T  is  my  will.  (  Whips  him.) 

Snacks.  Must  I?     Then  here  goes.     (Hops  about.) 

Rob.  What !  d'ye  call  that  dancing  fit  for  a  lord  ?  Come, 
quicker,  quicker.  (  Whips  Snacks  round  the  stage,  who  roars 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  289 

out.)  There,  that  will  do ;  now  go  and  order  John  the 
carter  the  pony ;  will  you  ? 

Snacks.  (Aside.)  What  a  cunning  dog  it  is!  He's  up 
to  nie  now.  (Exit.) 

Rob.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  how  he  hopped  about  and  hallooed; 
but  I'll  work  him  a  little  more  yet.  (Re-enter  Snacks.) 
Well,  Snacks,  what  d'ye  think  of  your  dancing  master  ? 

Snacks.  I  hope  your  lordship  won't  give  me  any  more 
lessons  at  present:  for,  to  say  the  truth,  I  don't  much  like 
the  accompaniment. 

Rob.  You  must  have  a  lesson  every  day,  or  you'll  forget 
the  step. 

Snacks.  No:  your  lordship  has  taken  care  that  I  shan't 
forget  it  for  some  time.  (Exeunt.) 


CLXVIL— THE  POOR  HOUSE. 

BEHOLD  yon  house  that  holds  the  parish  poor, 
Whose  walls  of  mud  scarce  bear  the  broken  door; 
•  There,  where  the  putrid  vapors  flagging  play, 
And  the  dull  wheel  hums  doleful  through  the  day; 
There  children  dwell  who  know  no  parent's  eve; 
Parents,  who  know  no  children's  love,  dwell  there ; 
Dejected  widows  with  unheeded  tears, 
And  crippled  age  with  more  than  childhood's  fears; 
The  lame,  the  blind,  and,  far  the  happiest  they  ! 
The  moping  idiot,  and  the  madman  gay, 

Here,  too,  the  sick  their  final  doom  receive, 
Here  brought,  amid  the  scenes  of  grief  to  grieve : 
Where  the  loud  groans  from  some  sad  chamber  flow, 
Mixed  with  the  clamors  of  the  crowd  below; 
Here,  sorrowing,  they  each  kindred  sorrow  scan, 
And  the  cold  charities  of  man,  to  man : 
Whose  laws  indeed  for  ruined  age  provide, 
And  strong  compulsion  plucks  the  scrap  from  pride ; 
But  still  that  scrap  is  bought  with  many  a  sigh, 
And  pride  embitters  what  it  can't  deny. 

Say,  ye  oppressed  by  some  fantastic  woes, 
Some  jarring  nerve  that  baffles  your  repose; 
Who  press  the  downy  couch,  while  slaves  advance 
With  timid  eye,  to  read  the  distant  glance  ; 
NEW  EC.  S.— 25 


290  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

Who  with  sad  prayers  the  weary  doctor  tease 

To  name  the  nameless,  ever-new  disease ; 

Who  with  mock-patienee  dire  complaints  endure, 

Which  real  pain,  and  that  alone,  can  cure; 

How  would  you  bear  in  real  pain  to  lie, 

Despised,  neglected,  left  alone  to  die? 

How  would  you  bear  to  draw  your  latest  breath, 

Where  all  that's  wretched  paves  the  way  for  death? 

Such  is  that  room  which  one  rude  beam  divides, 

And  naked  rafters  form  the  sloping  sides ; 

Where  the  vile  bands  that  bind  the  thatch  are  seen, 

And  lath  and  mud  are  all  that  lie  between ; 

Save  one  dull  pane,  that,  coarsely  thatched,  gives  way 

To  the  rude  tempest,  yet  excludes  the  day. 

Here,  on  a  matted  flock,  with  dust  o'erspread, 

The  drooping  wretch  reclines  his  languid  head; 

For  him  no  hand  the  cordial  cup  applies, 

Nor  wipes  the  tear  that  stagnates  in  his  eyes; 

No  friends  with  soft  discourse  his  pain  beguile, 

Nor  promise  hope,  till  sickness  wears  a  smile. 

FEOM  CRABBE. 


CLXVIIL— NOBILITY  OF  LABOR. 

I  CALL  upon  those  whom  I  address  to  stand  up  for  the 
nobility  of  labor.  It  is  Heaven's  great  ordinance  for  hu- 
man improvement.  Let  not  that  great  ordinance  be  broken 
down.  What  do  I  say?  It  is  broken  down;  and  it  has 
been  broken  down,  for  ages.  Let  it,  then,  be  built  up 
again ;  here,  if  anywhere,  on  these  shores  of  a  new  world, 
of  a  new  civilization. 

But  how,  I  may  be  asked,  is  it  broken  down  ?  Do  not 
men  toil  ?  it  may  be  said.  They  do,  indeed,  toil ;  but  they 
too  generally  do  it  because  they  must.  Many  submit  to 
it  as,  in  some  sort,  a  degrading  necessity ;  and  they  desire 
nothing  so  much  on  earth  as  to  escape  from  it.  They  ful- 
fill the  great  law  of  labor  in  the  letter,  but  break  it  in  the 
spirit ;  fulfill  it  with  the  muscle,  but  break  it  with  the 
mind. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  291 

To  some  field  of  labor,  mental  or  manual,  every  idler 
should  fasten,  as  a  chosen  and  coveted  theater  of  improve- 
ment. But  so  is  he  not  impelled  to  do,  under  the  teach- 
ings of  our  imperfect  civilization.  On  the  contrary,  he  sits 
down,  folds  his  hands,  and  blesses  himself  in  his  idleness. 
This  way  of  thinking  is  the  heritage  of  the  absurd  and 
unjust  feudal  system,  under  which  serfs  labored,  and  gen- 
tlemen spent  their  lives  in  fighting  and  feasting. 

It  is  time  that  this  opprobrium  of  toil  were  done  away. 
Ashamed  to  toil,  art  thou?  Ashamed  of  thy  dingy  work- 
shop and  dusty  labor-field ;  of  thy  hard  hand,  scarred  with 
service  more  honorable  than  that  of  war  ;  of  thy  soiled 
and  weather-stained  garments,  on  which  mother  nature  has 
embroidered,  mid  sun 'and  rain,  mid  fire  and  steam,  her  own 
heraldic  honors  ?  Ashamed  of  these  tokens  and  titles,  and 
envious  of  the  flaunting  robes  of  imbecile  idleness  and 
vanity?  It  is  treason  to  nature,  it  is  impiety  to  Heaven, 
it  is  breaking  Heaven's  great  ordinance.  TOIL,  I  repeat, 
TOIL,  either  of  the  brain,  of  the  heart,  or  of  the  hand,  is 
the  only  true  manhood,  the  only  true  nobility ! 

FROM  £)EWEY. 


CLXIX.— RELIGION  THE  BASIS  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

STANDING,  at  this  hour,  on  the  dividing  line  which  sepa- 
rates the  ages  that  are  past,  from  those  which  are  to  come, 
how  solemn  is  the  thought  that  not  one  of  this  assem- 
bly, not  one  of  that  great  multitude  who  now  throng  our 
streets,  rejoice  in  our  fields,  and  make  our  hills  echo  with 
their  gratulations,  shall  live  to  witness .  the  next  return 
of  the  era  we  this  day  celebrate  !  The  dark  vail  of  futu- 
rity conceals  from  human  sight  the  fate  of  cities  and  na- 
tions, as  well  as  of  individuals.  Man  passes  away.  Gen- 
erations are  but  shadows.  There  is  nothing  stable  but 
truth.  Principles  only  are  immortal. 

What,  then,  are  the  elements  of  the  liberty,  prosperity,  and 
safety,  which  we,  at  this  day.  enjoy  ?  In  what  language,  and 
concerning  what  comprehensive  truths,  does  the  wisdom 
of  former  times  address  the  inexperience  of  the  future? 


'292  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Those  elements  are  simple,  obvious,  and  familiar.  Every 
civil  and  religious  blessing,  all  that  here  gives  happiness  to 
human  life,  or  security  to  human  virtue,  is  alone  to  be 
perpetuated  in  the  forms  and  under  the  auspices  of  a  free 
commonwealth.  The  commonwealth  itself  has  no  other 
strength  or  hope,  than  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of  the 
individuals  that  compose  it.  For  the  intelligence  and  vir- 
tue of  individuals,  there  is  no  other  human  assurance  than 
laws,  providing  for  the  education  of  the  whole  people. 

These  laws  themselves  have  no  strength,  or  efficient 
sanction,  except  in  the  moral  and  accountable  nature  of 
man,  disclosed  in  the  records  of  the  Christian's  faith.  The 
right  to  read,  to  construe,  and  to  judge  concerning  this, 
belongs  to  no  class  or  caste  of  men,  but  exclusively  to  the 
individual,  who  must  stand  or  fall  by  his  own  acts  and  his 
own  faith,  and  not  by  those  of  another. 

The  great  comprehensive  truths,  written  in  letters  of 
living  light  on  every  page  of  our  history,  the  language 
addressed  by  every  past  age  to  all  future  ages  is  this : 
Human  happiness  has  no  perfect  security  but  freedom ; 
freedom  none  but  virtue;  virtue  none  but  knowledge;  and 
neither  freedom,  nor  virtue,  nor  knowledge  has  any  vigor, 
or  immortal  hope,  except  in  the  principles  of  the  Christian 
faith,  and  in  the  sanctions  of  the  Christian  religion. 

Men  of  America !  descendants  of  the  early  emigrants ! 
consider  your  blessings  !  consider  your  duties !  You  have 
an  inheritance  acquired  by  the  labors  and  sufferings  of 
many  successive  generations  of  ancestors.  They  founded 
the  fabric  of  your  prosperity,  in  a  severe  and  masculine 
morality ;  having,  intelligence  for  its  cement,  and  religion 
for  its  ground  work.  Continue  to  build  on  the  same  foun- 
dation, and  by  the  same  principles.  Let  the  extending 
temple  of  your  country's  freedom  rise,  in  the  spirit  of  an- 
cient times,  in  proportions  of  intellectual  and  moral  archi- 
tecture, just,  simple,  and  sublime. 

As  from  the  first  to  this  day,  let  America  continue  to  be 
an  example  to  the  world,  of  the  blessings  of  a  free  govern- 
ment, and  of  the  means  and  capacity  of  man  to  maintain 
it.  And,  in  all  times  to  come,  as  in  all  times  past,  may 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  293 

we  be  among  the  foremost  and  boldest  to  exemplify  and 
uphold  whatever  constitutes  the  prosperity,  the  happiness, 
and  the  glory  of  our  country.  FROM  QUINCY. 


CLXX.— REFORM. 

THE  great  element  of  Reform  is  not  born  of  human 
wisdom.  It  does  not  draw  its  life  from  human  organiza- 
tion. I  find  it  only  in  CHRISTIANITY.  "Thy  kingdom 
come!"  There  is  a  sublime  and  pregnant  burden  in  this 
prayer.  It  is  the  aspiration  of  every  soul,  that  goes  forth 
in  the  spirit  of  Reform.  For  what  is  the  significance  of 
this  prayer  ? 

It  is  a  petition  that  all  holy  influences  would  penetrate, 
and  subdue,  and  dwell  in  the  heart  of  man,  until  he  shall 
think,  and  speak,  and  do  good,  from  the  very  necessity  of 
his  being.  So  would  the  institutions  of  error  and  wrong 
crumble  and  pass  away.  So  would  sin  die  out  from  the 
earth.  And  the  human  soul,  living  in  harmony  with  the 
divine  will,  this  earth  would  become  like  Heaven. 

It  is  too  late  for  the  reformers  to  sneer  at  Christianity. 
It  is  foolishness  for  them  to  reject  it.  In  it  are  enshrined 
our  faith  in  human  progress,  our  confidence  in  Reform.  It 
is  indissolubly  connected  with  all  that  is  hopeful,  spiritual, 
capable  in  man.  That  men  have  misunderstood  it  and 
perverted  it,  is  true.  But  it  is  also  true  that  the  noblest 
efforts  for  human  amelioration  have  come  out  of  it;  have 
been  based  upon  it.  Is  it  not  so?  Come,  ye  remembered 
ones,  who  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just,  who  took  your  con- 
duct from  the  line  of  Christian  philosophy  ;  come  from  your 
tombs,  and  answer ! 

Come  Howard,  from  the  gloom  of  the  prison  and  the 
taint  of  the  lazar-house,  and  show  us  what  philanthropy 
can  do  when  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  Jesus.  Come 
Eliot,  from  the  thick  forest  where  the  red-man  listens  to 
the  Word  of  Life;  come  Penn,  from  thy  sweet  counsel  and 
weaponless  victory ;  and  show  us  what  Christian  zeal  and 
Christian  love  can  accomplish  with  the  rudest  barbarians 


294  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

or  the  fiercest  hearts.  Come  Raikes,  from  thy  labors  with 
the  ignorant  and  the  poor,  and  show  us  with  what  an  eye 
this  faith  regards  the  lowest  and  least  of  our  race,  and 
how  diligently  it  labors,  not  for  the  body,  not  for  rank, 
but  for  the  plastic  soul  that  is  to  course  the  ages  of  im- 
mortality. 

And  ye,  who  are  a  great  number,  ye  nameless  ones, 
who  have  done  good  in  your  narrower  spheres,  content  to 
forego  renown  on  earth,  and  seeking  your  reward  in  the 
record  on  High,  come  and  tell  us  how  kindly  a  spirit,  how 
lofty  a  purpose,  or  how  strong  a  courage,  the  religion  ye 
professed  can  breathe  into  the  poor,  the  humble,  and  the 
weak. 

Go  forth,  then,  Spirit  of  Christianity,  to  thy  great  work 
of  REFORM  !  The  past  bears  witness  to  thee  in  the  blood 
of  thy  martyrs,  and  the  ashes  of  thy  saints  and  heroes. 
The  present  is  hopeful  because  of  thee.  The  future  shall 
acknowledge  thy  omnipotence.  FROM  CHAPIN. 


CLXXI.— NEVER  DESPAIR. 

0  NEVER  despair!  for  our  hopes,  oftentime, 
Spring  swiftly,  as  flowers  in  some  tropical  clime, 
Where  the  spot  that  was  barren  and  scentless  at  night, 
Is  blooming  and  fragrant  at  morning's  first  light! 
The  mariner  marks,  when  the  tempest  rings  loud, 
That  the  rainbow  is  brighter,  the  darker  the  cloud. 
Then,  up!  up!  never  despair! 

The  leaves  which  the  sibyl  presented  of  old, 
Though  lessened  in  number,  wore  not  worth  less  gold ; 
And  though  Fate  steal  our  joys,  do  not  think  they're  the  best, 
The  few  she  has  spared  may  be  worth  all  the  rest. 
Good  fortune  oft  comes  in  adversity's  form, 
And  the  rainbow  is  brightest  when  darkest  the  storm. 
Then,  up  !  up  !  never  despair ! 

And  when  all  creation  was  sunk  in  the  flood, 
Sublime  o'er  the  deluge  the  patriarch  stood ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  295 

Though  destruction  around  him  in  thunder  was  hurled, 
Undaunted,  he  looked  on  the  wreck  of  the  world ! 
For,  high  o'er  the'  ruin,  hung  Hope's  bless-ed  form, 
The  rainbow  beamed  bright  through  the  gloom  of  the  storm. 
Then,  up !  up  !  neyer  despair ! 


CLXXIL— MOTHERS  OF  THE  WEST. 

THE  mothers  of  our  forest  land ! 

Stout-hearted  dames  were  they; 
With  nerve  to  wield  the  battle-brand, 

And  join  the  border-fray. 
Our  rough  land  had  no  braver, 

In  its  days  of  blood  and  strife ; 
Ay  ready  for  severest  toil. 

Ay  free  to  peril  life. 

The  mothers  of  our  forest  land ! 

Their  bosoms  pillow'd  men! 
And  proud  were  they  by  such  to  stand, 

In  hammock,  fort,  or  glen. 
To  load  the  sure,  old  rifle; 

To  run  the  leaden  ball; 
To  watch  a  battling  husband's  place, 

And  fill  it  should  he  fall. 

The  mothers  of  our  forest  land ! 

Such  were  their  daily  deeds. 
Their  monument!  where  does  it  stand? 

Their  epitaph!  who  reads? 
No  braver  dames  had  Sparta, 

No  nobler  matrons  Rome; 
Yet  who  or  lauds  or  honors  them, 

E'en  in  their  own  green  home? 

The  mothers  of  our  forest  land ! 

They  sleep  in  unknown  graves; 
And  had  they  borne  and  nursed  a  band 

Of  ingrates,  or  of  slaves, 
They  had  not  more  neglected  been ! 

But  their  graves  shall  yet  be  found, 
And  their  monuments  dot,  here  and  there, 

"The  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground." 

FROM  GALLAGHER. 


296  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CLXXIIL— VALUE  OF  REPUTATION. 

O  DIVINE,  O  delightful  legacy  of  a  spotless  reputation ! 
Rich  is  the  inheritance  it  leaves ;  the  example  it  testifies ! 
Pure,  precious,  and  imperishable,  the  hope  which  it  in- 
spires!  Can  there  be  conceived  a  more  atrocious  injury 
than  to  filch  from  its  possessor  this  inestimable  benefit;  to 
rob  society  of  its  charm,  and  solitude  of  its  solace  ;  not 
only  to  out-law  life,  but  to  attaint  death,  converting  the 
very  grave,  the  refuge  of  the  sufferer,  into  the  gate  of  in- 
famy and  of  shame !  I  can  conceive  of  but  few  crimes 
beyond  it. 

He  who  plunders  my  property  takes  from  me  that  which 
can  be  repaired  by  time.  But  what  period  can  repair  a 
ruined  reputation  ?  He  who  maims  my  person,  effects  that 
which  medicine  may  remedy.  But  what  herb  has  sov- 
ereignty over  the  wounds  of  slander?  He  who  ridicules 
my  poverty,  or  reproaches  my  profession,  upbraids  me  with 
that  which  industry  may  retrieve,  and  integrity  may  purify. 
But  what  riches  shall  redeem  a  bankrupt  fame?  What 
power  shall  blanch  the  sullied  snow  of  character  ?  There 
can  be  no  injury  more  deadly.  There  can  be  no  crime 
more  cruel.  It  is  without  remedy ;, without  antidote  ;  with- 
out evasion. 

The  reptile,  calumny,  is  ever  on  the  watch.  From  the 
fascination  of  its  eye,  no  activity  can  escape.  From  the 
venom  of  its  fang,  no  sanity  can  recover.  It  has  no  enjoy- 
ment but  crime;  no  prey  but  virtue;  no  interval  from  the 
restlessness  of  its  malice,  save  when,  bloated  with  its  vic- 
tims, it  grovels,  to  disgorge  them  at  the  withered  shrine 
where  envy  idolizes  her  own  infirmities. 

FKOM  PHILLIPS. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  297 


CLXXIV.— THE  INFORMER. 

THERE  is,  gentlemen,  another  small  fact,  that  you  are  to 
deny  at  the  hazard  of  your  souls,  and  on  the  solemnity  of  your 
oaths.  You* are,  upon  your  oaths,  to  say  to  the  sister 
kingdom,  that  the  government  of  Ireland  uses  no  such 
abominable  instruments  of  destruction  as  informers.  Let 
me  ask  you  honestly,  what  do  you  feel,  when  in  my  hear- 
ing, when  in  the  face  of  this  audience,  you  are  called  upon 
to  give  a  verdict  that  every  man  of  us,  and  every  man  of 
you,  knows  by  the  testimony  of  his  own  eyes,  to  be  utterly 
and  absolutely  false? 

I  speak  not  now  of  the  public  proclamations  of  inform- 
ers, with  a  promise  of  secrecy  and  of  extravagant  reward. 
I  speak  not  of  the  fate  of  those  horrid  wretches  who  have 
been  so  often  transferred  from  the  table  to  the  dock,  and 
from  the  dock  to  the  pillory.  I  speak  of  what  your  own 
eyes  have  seen,  day  after  day,  during  the  course  of  this 
commission.  I  speak  of  the  horrid  miscreants  who  avowed, 
upon  their  oaths,  that  they  had  .come  from  the  very  seat 
of  government ;  where  they  had  been  worked  upon  by  the 
fears  of  death  and  the  hopes  of  compensation,  to  give  evi- 
dence against  their  fellows.  I  speak  of  the  wretch,  that, 
having  been  buried  a  man,  lies  till  his  heart  has  time  to 
fester  and  dissolve,  and  is  then  dug  up  a  witness. 

Is  this  fancy,  or  is  it  fact?  Have  you  not  seen  him, 
after  his  resurrection  from  that  tomb :  after  having  been 
dug  out  of  the  region  of  death  and  corruption,  make  his 
appearance  upon  the  table,  the  living  image  of  life  and  of 
death,  and  the  supreme  arbiter  of  both  ?  Have  you  not 
marked,  when  he  entered,  how  the  stirring  wave  of  the 
multitude  retired  at  his  approach?  Have  you  not  marked 
how  the  human  heart  bowed  to  the  supremacy  of  his 
power,  in  the  undissembled  homage  of  deferential  horror? 
How  his  glance,  like  the  lightning  of  heaven,  seemed  to 
sear  the  body  of  the  accused,  and  mark  it  for  the  grave, 
while  his  voice  warned  the  devoted  wretch  of  woe  and 


298  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

death?    a  death  which    no    innocence   can    escape,   no    art 
elude,  no  force  resist,  no  antidote  prevent. 

There  was  an  antidote,  a  juror's  oath.  But  even  that 
adamantine  chain,  that  bound  the  integrity  of  man  to  the 
throne  of  eternal  justice,  is  solved  and  melted  in  the  breath 
that  issues  from  the  informer's  mouth.  Conscience  swings 
from  her  moorings,  and  the  appalled  and  affrighted  juror 
consults  his  own  safety  in  the  surrender  of  the  victim ! 

FROM  CURE  AN. 


CLXXV.— PHILOSOPHY  OF  VIRTUE. 

MY  honorable  and  learned  friend  began  by  telling  us 
that,  after  all,  hatred  is  no  bad  thing  in  itself.  "  I  hate  a 
tory,"  says  my  honorable  friend;  "and  another  man  hates 
a  cat;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  he  would  hunt  down  the 
cat  or  I,  the  tory."  Nay,  so  far  from  it,  hatred,  if  it  be 
properly  managed,  is,  according  to  my  honorable  friend's 
theory,  no  bad  preface  to  a  rational  esteem  and  affection. 
It  prepares  its  votaries  for  a  reconciliation  of  differences ; 
for  lying  down  with  their  most  inveterate  enemies,  like  the 
leopard  and  the  kid  in  the  vision  of  the  prophet. 

This  dogma  is  a  little  startling,  but  it  is  not  altogether 
without  precedent.  It  is  borrowed  from  a  character  in  a 
play,  which  is,  I  dare  say,  as  great  a  favorite  with  my 
learned  friend  as  it  is  with  me;  I  mean  the  comedy  of  the 
Rivals.  Mrs.  Malaprop,  giving  a  lecture  on  the  subject  of 
marriage  to  her  niece,  (who  is  unreasonable  enough  to  talk 
of  liking,  as  a  necessary  preliminary  to  such  a  union,) 
says,  "  What  have  you  to  do  with  your  likings  and  your 
preferences,  child?  Depend  upon  it,  it  is  safest  to  begin 
with  a  little  aversion.  I  am  sure  I  hated  your  poor  dear 
uncle  like  a  blackmoor  before  we  were  married ;  and  yet, 
you  know,  my  dear,  what  a  good  wife  I  made  him." 

Such  is  my  learned  friend's  argument,  to  a  hair.  But, 
finding  that  this  doctrine  did  not  appear  to  go  down  with 
the  House  so  glibly  as  he  had  expected,  my  honorable  and 
learned  friend  presently  changed  his  tack,  and  put  forward 
a  theory,  which,  whether  for  novelty  or  for  beauty,  I  pro- 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  299 

nounce  to  be  incomparable.  In  short,  it  wants  nothing  to 
recommend  it  but  a  slight  foundation  in  truth. 

"True  philosophy,"  says  my  honorable  friend,  "will  al- 
ways continue  to  lead  men  to  virtue  by  the  instrumentality 
of  their  conflicting  vices.  The  virtues,  where  more  than 
one  exists,  may  live  harmoniously  together.  But  the  vices 
bear  mortal 'antipathy  to  one  another,  and,  therefore,  fur- 
nish to  the  moral  engineer  the  power  by  which  he  can 
make  each  keep  the  other  under  control." 

Admirable  !  But,  upon  this  doctrine,  the  poor  man  who 
has  but  one  single  vice  must  be  in  a  very  bad  way.  -  No 
fulcrum,  no  moral  power,  for  effecting  his  cure !  Whereas, 
his  more  fortunate  neighbor,  who  has  two  or  more  vices  in 
his  composition,  is  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  a  very  virtu- 
ous member  of  society.  I  wonder  how  my  learned  friend 
would  like  to  have  this  doctrine  introduced  into  his  domes- 
tic establishment. 

For  instance,  suppose  that  I  discharge  a  servant  because 
he  is  addicted  to  liquor,  I  could  not  venture  to  recommend 
him  to  my  honorable  and  learned  friend.  It  might  be  the 
poor  man's  only  fault,  and  therefore  clearly  incorrigible. 
But,  if  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  out  that  he  was 
also  addicted  to  stealing,  might  I  not,  with  a  safe  con- 
science, send  him  to  my  learned  friend  with  a  strong 
recommendation,  saying,  "  I  send  you  a  man  whom  I  know 
to  be  a  drunkard ;  but  I  am  happy  to  assure  you  he  is 
also  a  thief.  You  can  not  do  better  than  to  employ  him. 
You  will  make  his  drunkenness  counteract  his  thievery, 
and  no  doubt  you  will  bring  him  out  of  the  conflict  a  very 
moral  personage  /"  FROM  CANNING. 


CLXXVL—  THE  EDITOR. 

THE  editor  sat  in  his  easy  chair, 
But  he  sat  not  easy :  there  being  an  air 
Of  anxious  thought  beclouding  his  brow, 
As  if  rightly  he  knew  not  what  or  how 
To  do  in  some  matter  of  moment  great, 
On  which  depended  a  throne  or  a  state; 


300         .       M^GUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

When,  all  of  a  sudden,  flew  open  wide 
The  office  door,  and,  with  hasty  stride, 
A  loaferish  figure  came  stalking  in 
With  a  rubicund  phiz,  and  hairy  chin, 
.    (The  former  a  product  directly  of  gin,) 
And  with  fiery  eye  *  and  menacing  air, 
He  made  right  up  to  the  editor's  chair. 

"Are  you  the  man 

What  edits  the  paper? 

I've  come  to  tan 

Your  hide  for  that  caper. 

You  called  me  a  villain;  you  called  me  a  rogue j 
A  way  of  speaking,  sir,  too  much  in  vogue, 
With  you  fellows  that  handle  the  printing  press. 
Defend  yourself,  sir !     I  demand  a  redress." 

The  editor  quailed, 

Decidedly  paled. 

But  just  at  the  moment  his  courage  gave  way, 
His  genius  stepped  in,  and  gained  him  the  day, 
"I'm  not  the  person  you  seek,"  he  said; 
"If  you  want  redress,  go  strait  to  the  head. 
He's  not  far  off,  and  will  settle  affairs, 
I  haven't  a  doubt.     I'll  call  him  up  stairs." 

Then  down  he  went, 

As  if  he  were  sent, 
A  fire,  or  something  worse  to  prevent. 
Meantime  there  came,  through  a  door  below, 
Another  somebody  to  deal  him  a  blow; 
A  scamp  well  known  to  annals  of  fame, 
Whom,  the  hapless  editor  hoping  to  tame, 
Had  ventured  to  publish,  and  that  by  name. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stair, 

Or  near  it  somewhere, 
The  monster  met  him,  demanding  redress, 
And,  just  like  the  other,  began  to  press 
Poor  editor  hard  with  a  Billingsgate  mess, 
And  threaten  forthwith  his  hide  to  dress, 
When  necessity,  mother  of  all  invention, 
And  a  brain-  editorial,  used  to  tension, 
Contrived  a  means  of  diverting  attention. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  301 

"Stranger,"  said  he, 

"Be  not  too  free, 

In  applying  abusive  words  to  me; 
Up  stairs  is  the  person  you  wish  to  see." 
Up  stairs  all  raging  the  rowdy  flew, 
(Neither  complainant  the  other  knew,) 
So  the  moment  they  met  without  more  ado, 
At  it  they  went,  in  a  regular  set  to. 

A  terrible  tussle, 

A  terrible  bustle, 

They  make,  as  round  the  room  they  wrestle; 
There  were  but  few  words,  but  plenty  of  blows, 
For  they  fought  like  a  couple  of  deadly  foes, 
Till  each  had  acquired  a  bloody  nose ; 
And  each  had  the  pleasure  distinctly  to  spy, 
In  the  face  of  the  other,  a  very  black  eye  ? 


CLXXVIL—  THE  QUIZ. 

(Enter  Sir  Christopher  and  Quiz.") 

Sir  Christopher.  AND  so,  you  are  just  come  from  col- 
lege? 

Quiz.      Yes,  sir. 

Sir  Ch.  Ah,  I  once  loved  the  name  of  a  college,  until 
my  son  proved  so  worthless. 

Quiz.  In  the  name  of  all  the  literati,  what  do  you 
mean?  You  fond  of  books,  and  not  bless  your  stars  in 
giving  you  such  a  son  ! 

Sir  Ch.  Ah,  sir,  he  was  once  a  youth  of  ^promise.  But 
do  you  know  him  ? 

Quiz.  What !  Frederic  Classic  ?  Ay,  that  I  do,  Heaven 
be  praised ! 

Sir  Ch.  I  can  tell  you,  he  is  wonderfully  changed. 

Quiz.  And  a  lucky  change  for  him.  What!  I  suppose 
he  was  once  a  wild  young  fellow? 

Sir  Ch.  No,  sir,  you  don't  understand  me,  or  I  don't 
you.  I  tell  you,  he  neglects  his  studies,  and  is  foolishly 


302  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER.        . 

in  love;  for  which  I  shall  certainly  cut  him  off  with  a 
shilling. 

Quiz.  You  surprise  me,  sir.  I  must  beg  leave  to  un- 
deceive you.  You  are  either  out  of  your  senses,  or  some 
wicked  enemy  of  his  has,  undoubtedly,  done  him  this  in- 
jury. Why,  sir,  he  is  in  love,  I  grant  you,  but  it  is  only 
with  his  books.  He  hardly  allows  himself  time  to  eat; 
and,  as  for  sleep,  he  scarcely  takes  two  hours  in  the  twen- 
ty-four. (Aside.)  This  is  a  thumper ;  for  the  dog  has  not 
looked  into  a  book  these  six  months,  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge. 

Sir  Ch.  I  have  received  a  letter  from  farmer  Downright 
this  very  day,  who  tells  me  he  has  received  a  letter  from 
him,  containing  proposals  for  his  daughter. 

Quiz.  This  is  very  strange.  I  left  him,  at  college,  as 
close  to  his  books  as — oh,  oh — I  believe  I  can  solve  this 
mystery,  and  much  to  your  satisfaction. 

Sir  Ch.  I  should  be  very  happy  indeed  if  you  could. 

Quiz.  Oh,  as  plain  as  that  two  and  three  are  five.  'T  is 
thus.  An  envious  fellow,  a  rival  of  your  son's,  a  fellow  who 
has  not  as  much  sense  in  his  whole  corporation,  as  your  son 
has  in  his  little  finger,  yes,  1  heard  this  very  fellow  order- 
ing a  messenger  to  farmer  Downright  with  a  letter ;  and 
this  is,  no  doubt,  the  very  one.  Why,  sir,  your  son  will 
certainly  surpass  the  Admiral  Crichton.  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
will  be  a  perfect  automaton,  compared  to  him  :  and  the  sages 
of  antiquity,  if  resuscitated,  would  hang  their  heads  in  des- 
pair. 

Sir  Ch.  Is  it  possible  that  my  son  is  now  at  college, 
making  these  great  improvements? 

Quiz.      Ay,* that  he  is,  sir. - 

Sir  Ch.  (Rubbing  his  hands.)  Oh,  the  dear  fellow !  the 
dear  fellow ! 

Quiz,  Sir,  you  may  turn  to  any  part  of  Homer,  and 
repeat  one  line,  he  will  take  it  up,  and,  by  dint  of  mem- 
ory, continue  repeating  to  the  end  of  the  book. 

Sir  Ch.  Well,  well,  well !  I  find  I  was  doing  him  great 
injustice.  However,  I'll  make  him  ample  amends.  Oh, 
the  dear  fellow  !  the  dear  fellow  !  the  dear  fellow  !  He  will 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  SOS 

be  immortalized ;  and  so  shall  I ;  for,  if  I  had  not  cher- 
ished the  boy's  genius  in  embryo,  he  would  never  have 
soared  above  mediocrity. 

Quiz.      True,  sir. 

Sir  Oh.  I  can  not  but  think  what  superlative  pleasure  I 
shall  have,  when  my  son  has  got  his  education.  No  other 
man's  in  England  shall  be  equal  to  it ;  of  that  I  am  posi- 
tive. We  shall  never  think  of  addressing  each  other  in 
plain  English ;  no,  no,  we  will  converse  in  the  pure  classi- 
cal language  of  the  ancients.  You  remember  the  Eclogues 
of  Virgil  ? 

Quiz.  Oh,  yes,  sir,  perfectly ;  have  'em  at  my  finger 
ends.  (Aside.)  Not  a  bit  of  a  one  did  I  ever  hear  of  in 
my  life. 

Sir  Ch.  How  sweetly  the  first  of  them  begins ! 

Quiz.  Very  sweetly,  indeed,  sir.  (Aside.)  Bless  me ! 
I  wish  he  would  change  the  subject. 

Sir  Ch.  "Tytire  tu petulce recubans ;"  faith,  'tis  more  musi- 
cal than  fifty  hand-organs. 

Quiz.       (Aside.)     I  had  rather  hear  a  Jews-harp. 

Sir  Oh.  Talking  of  music,  though,  the  Greek  is  the  lan- 
guage for  that. 

Quiz.      Truly  is  it. 

Sir  Oh.  Even  the  conjugation  of  the  verbs  far  excel  the 
finest  sonata  of  Pleyel  or  Handel.  For  instance  :  "  tupto, 
tupso,  tetupha"  Can  any  thing  be  more  musical  ? 

Quiz.      Nothing.     "  Stoop  low,  stoop  so,  stoop  too  far." 

Sir  Ch.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "Stoop  too  far  !"  That's  a  good 
one. 

Quiz.  (Aside.)  Faith,  I  have  stooped  too  far.  All 's 
over  now  ! 

Sir  Ch.  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !     A  plaguy  good  pun. 

Quiz.  Tolerable.  (Aside.)  I  am  well  out  of  that 
scrape,  however. 

Sir  Ch.  Pray,  sir,  which  of  the  classics  is  your  favorite  ? 

Quiz.  Why,  sir,  Mr.  Frederic  Classic,  I  think ;  he  is 
so  great  a  scholar. 

Sir  Ch.  Po !  po  !  you  do  n't  understand  me.  I  me~an, 
which  of  the  Latin  classics  do  you  admire  most? 


304  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Quiz.  (Aside.)  Hang  it!  what  shall  I  say  now?  (To 
him.)  The  Latin  classics  ?  Oh,  really,  sir,  I  admire  them 
all  so  much,  it  is  difficult  to  say. 

Sir  Ch.  Yirgil  is  my  favorite.  How  very  expressive  is 
his  description  of  the  unconquerable  passion  of  Queen 
Dido,  where  he  says, — "Hceret  lateri  lethalis  arundo!"  Is 
not  that  very  expressive? 

Quiz.  Very  expressive,  indeed,  sir.  (Aside.)  I  wish 
we  were  forty  miles  asunder.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  hold 
out  much  longer  at  this  rate. 

Sir  Ch.  And  Ovid  is  not  without  his  charms. 

Quiz.      He  is  not,  indeed,  sir. 

Sir  Gh.  And  what  a  dear,  enchanting  fellow  Horace  is  ! 

Quiz.      Wonderfully  so  ! 

Sir  Ch.  Pray,  what  do  you  think  of  Xenophon  ? 

Quiz.  (Aside.)  Who  the  plague  is  he,  I  wonder? 
Xenophon !  Oh,  •  think  he  unquestionably  wrote  good 
Latin,  sir. 

Sir  Ch.  Good  Latin,  man  !  He  wrote  Greek  ;  good  Greek, 
you  meant. 

Quiz.  True,  sir.  I  did.  Latin,  indeed  !  (In  great,  con- 
fusion.) I  meant  Greek; — did  I  say  Latin?  I  really 
meant  Greek.  (Aside.)  Bless  me !  I  do  n't  know  what  I 
mean  myself. 

Sir*  Ch.  Oh !  I  have  been  trying  a  long  time  to  remem- 
ber the  name  of  one  of  Achilles'  horses,  but  I  can't  for 
my  life  think  of  it.  You  doubtless  can  tell  me. 

Quiz.  O  yes,  his  name  was — but  which  of  them  do  you 
mean?  What  was  he  called? 

SirCh.  What  was  he  called?  Why,  that's  the  very 
thing  I  wanted  to  know.  The  one  I  allude  to  was  born 
of  the  Harpy  Celseno.  I  can't,  for  the  blood  of  me,  tell  it. 

Quiz.  (Aside.)  Bless  me!  if  I  can  either.  (To  him.) 
Born  of  the  Harpy — oh  !  his  name  was — (striking  his  fore- 
head.) Gracious  !  I  forget  it  now.  His  name  was — was — 
was — Strange  !  'tis  as  familiar  to  me  as  my  A,  B,  C. 

Sir  Ch.  Oh!  I  remember;  'twas  Xanthus,  Xanthus !  I 
remember  now,  'twas  Xanthus; — plague  o'  the  name ! 
that's  it. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  305 

Quiz.  So  'tis.  "Thankus,  Thankus  !"  — that's  it. 
Strange,  I  could  not  remember  it.  (Aside.)  'T would 
have  been  stranger,  if  I  had. 

Sir  Ch.  You  seem  at  times  a  little  absent,  sir. 

Quiz.  (Aside.)  Dear  me !  I  wish  I  was  absent  alto- 
gether. 

Sir  Ch.  We  shall  not  disagree  about  learning,  sir.  I 
discover  you  are  a  man,  not  only  of  profound  learning,  but 
correct  taste. 

Quiz.  (Aside)  I  am  glad  you  have  found  that  out, 
for  I  never  should.  I  came  here  to  quiz  the  old  fellow, 
and  he'll  quiz  me,  I  fear.  (To  him.)  O,  by-the-by,  I 
have  been  so  confused — I  mean,  so  confounded — pshaw!  so 
much  engrossed  with  the  contemplation  of  the  Latin  class- 
ics, I  had  almost  forgotten  to  give  you  a  letter  from  your 
son. 

Sir  Ch.  Bless  me,  sir !  why  did  you  delay  that  pleasure 
so  long? 

Quiz.      I  beg  pardon,  sir;  here  'tis.     (Gives  a  letter.) 

Sir  Ch.  (Puts  on  his  spectacles  and  reads.)  "  To  Miss 
Clara!" 

Quiz.  No,  no,  no; — that's  not  it; — here  'tis.  (Takes 
the  letter  and  gives  him  another.) 

Sir  Ch.  What !  are  you  the  bearer  of  love  epistles,  too? 

Quiz.  (Aside.)  What  a  horrid  blunder!  (To  him.) 
Oh,  no,  sir :  that  letter  is  from  a  female  cousin  at  a  board- 
ing school,  to  Miss  Clara  Upright — no,  Downright — that 's 
the  name. 

Sir  Ch.  Truly  she  writes  a  good  masculine  fist.  Well, 
let  me  see  what  my  boy  has  to  say.  (Reads.) 

"Dear  Father:  There  is  a  famous  Greek  manuscript  just 
come  to  light.  I  must  have  it.  The  price  is  about  a  thou- 
sand dollars.  Send  the  money  by  the  bearer." 

Short  and  sweet.  There's  a  letter  for  you,  in  the  true 
Lacedaemonian  style ;  laconic.  Well,  the  boy  shall  have 
it,  were  it  ten  times  as  much.  I  should  like  to  see  this 
Greek  manuscript.  Pray,  sir,  did  you  ever  see  it? 

Quiz.      I  can't  say  I  ever  did,  sir.     (Aside.)     This  is  the 
only  truth  I  have  been  able  to  edge  in  yet. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 26 


306  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

Sir  Ch.  I'll  just  send  to  my  banker's  for  the  money.  In 
the  mean  time,  we  will  adjourn  to  my  library.  I  have  been 
much  puzzled  with  an  obscure  passage  in  Livy.  We  must 
lay  our  heads  together  for  a  solution.  But  I  am  sorry  you 
are  addicted  to  such  absence  of  mind,  at  times. 

Quiz.  'Tis  a  misfortune, -sir;  but  I  am  addicted  to  a 
greater  than  that,  at  times. 

Sir  Ch.  Ah!  what's  that? 

Quiz.      I  am  sometimes  addicted  to  an  absence  of  body. 

SirCh.  As  how? 

Quiz.  Why,  thus,  sir.  (Takes  up  his  hat  and  stick,  and 
walks  off.} 

Sir  Ch.  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  That 's  an  absence  of  body,  sure 
enough — an  absence  of  body  with  a  vengeance !  A  queer 
fellow  this.  I  doubt  him.  But  we'll  see  more  about  it. 
(Exeunt.) 

CLXXVIIL— THE  GREEK  REVOLUTION. 

GREECE,  having  been,  from  1453,  subject  to  Turkey,  in  1821  com- 
menced her  last  and  successful  struggle  for  independence.  In  an 
early  period  of  the  war,  the  beautiful  island  of  Scio  was  attacked  by 
the  Turks,  and  its  population  massacred  or  taken  captive.  A  reso- 
lution was  offered  in  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  to  recognize 
the  Gjeek  government.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  one  of  the 
speeches  on  that  resolution. 

OUR  object,  at  the  present  time,  should  be,  to  avail  our- 
selves of  the  interesting  occasion  of  the  Greek  revolution, 
to  make  our  protest  against  the  doctrines  of  the  Allied 
Powers;  both  as  they  are  laid  down  in  principle,  and  as 
they  are  applied  in  practice. 

The  end  and  scope  of  these  doctrines,  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  this  :  to  interfere,  by  force,  for  any  govern- 
ment, against  any  people  who  may  resist  it.  Be  the  state 
of  the  people  what  it  may,  they  shall  not  rise.  Be  the 
government  what  it  will,  it  shall  not  be  opposed.  The 
practical  commentary  has  corresponded  with  the  plain  lan- 
guage of  the  text.  Look  at  Greece.  A  stronger  case  can 
never  arise. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  307 

In  four  days,  the  fire  and  the  sword  of  the  Turk,  ren- 
dered the  beautiful  Scio  a  clotted  mass  of  blood  and  ashes. 
The  details  are  too  shocking  to  be  recited.  Forty  thousand 
women  and  children,  unhappily  saved  from  the  general  de- 
struction, were  afterward  sold  in  the  market  of  Smyrna, 
and  sold  off  into  distant  and  hopeless  servitude.  Even  on 
the  wharves  of  our  own  cities,  it  has  been  said,  have  been 
sold  the  utensils  of  those  hearths  which  now  exist  no  longer. 

Of  the  whole  population  which  I  have  mentioned,  not 
above  nine  hundred  persons  were  left  living  upon  the 
island.  These  tragical  scenes  were  as  fully  known  at  the 
Congress  of  Yerona,  as  they  are  now  known  to  us.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  call  on  the  powers  that  constituted  that 
Congress,  in  the  name  of  conscience,  and  in  the  name  of 
humanity,  to  tell  us  if  there  be  nothing  even  in  these  un- 
paralleled excesses  of  Turkish  barbarity,  to  excite  a  senti- 
ment of  compassion;  nothing  which  they  regard  as  so 
objectionable,  as  even  the  very  idea  of  popular  resistance 
to  arbitrary  power. 

Is  it  proper  for  us,  at  all  times,  is  it  not  our  duty,  at  this 
time,  to  come  forth,  and  deny,  and  condemn,  these  mon- 
strous principles  ?  Where,  but  here  are  they  likely  to  be 
resisted?  They  are  advancing  with  equal  coolness  and 
boldness;  and  they  are  supported  by  immense  power.  The 
timid  will  shrink  and  give  way,  and  many  of  the  brave 
may  be  compelled  to  yield  to  force.  Human  liberty  may 
yet,  perhaps,  be  obliged  to  repose  its  principal  hopes  on  the 
intelligence  and  vigor  of  the  Saxon  race.  As  far  as  de- 
pends on  us,  at  least,  I  trust  those  hopes  will  not  be  dis- 
appointed. 

I  think  it  right,  too,  not  to  be  unseasonable  in  the  ex- 
pression of  our  regard,  and,  as  far  as  that  goes,  in  a  minis- 
tration of  our  consolation  to  a  long  oppressed  and  now 
struggling  people.  I  am  not  of  those  who  would  in  the 
hour  of  utmost  peril,  withhold  such  encouragement  as  might 
be  properly  and  lawfully  given,  and  when  the  crisis  should 
be  passed,  overwhelm  the  rescued  sufferer  with  kindness 
and  caresses. 

The  Greeks  address  the  civilized  world  with  a  pathos  not 


308  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

easy  to  be  resisted.  They  invoke  our  favor  by  more  mov- 
ing considerations,  than  can  well  belong  to  the  condition 
of  any  other  people.  They  stretch  out  their  arms  to  the 
Christian  communities  of  the  earth,  beseeching  them,  by  a 
generous  recollection  of  their  ancestors,  by  the  considera- 
tion of  their  own  desolated  and  ruined  cities  and  villages, 
by  their  wives  and  children,  sold  into  an  accursed  slavery, 
by  their  own  blood,  which  they  seem  willing  to  pour  out 
like  water,  by  the  common  faith,  and  in  the  Name,  which 
unites  all  Christians,  that  they  would  extend  to  them,  at 
least,  some  token  of  compassionate  regard. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


CLXXIX.— LIBERTY  TO  GREECE. 

THE  flag  of  freedom  floats  once  more 
Around  the  lofty  Parthenon; 
It  waves  as  waved  the  palm  of  yore, 
In  days  departed  long  and  gone; 
As  bright  a  glory,  from  the  skies, 
Pours  down  its  light  around  these  towers, 
And  once  again  the  Greeks  arise, 
As  in  their  country's  noblest  hours : 
Their  swords  are  girt  in  virtue's  cause, 
Minerva's  sacred  hill  is  free. 
O!  may  she  keep  her  equal  laws, 
While  man  shall  live,  and  time  shall  be. 

The  pride  of  all  her  shrines  went  down; 
The  Goth,  the  Frank,  the  Turk,  had  reft 
The  laurel  from  her  civic  crown; 
Her  helm  by  many  a  sword  was  cleft; 
She  lay  among  her  ruins  low; 
Where  grew  the  palm,  the  cypress  rose; 
And,  crushed,  and  bruised  by  many  a  blow, 
She  cowered  beneath  her  savage  foes. 
But  now  again  she  springs  from  earth, 
Her  loud,  awakening  trumpet  speaks; 
She  rises  in  a  brighter  birth, 
And  sounds  redemption  to  the  Greeks. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  309 

It  is  the  classic  jubilee; 
Their  servile  years  have  rolled  away ; 
The  clouds  that  hovered  o'er  them  flee; 
They  hail  the  dawn  of  freedom's  day; 
'  From  heaven  the  golden  light  descends, 
The  times  of  old  are  on  the  wing, 
And  glory  there  his  pinion  bends, 
And  beauty  makes  a  fairer  spring; 
The  hills  of  Greece,  her  rocks,  her  waves, 
Are  all  in  triumph's  pomp"  arrayed : 
A  light,  that  points  their  tyrants'  graves, 
Plays  round  each  bold  Athenian's  blade. 

The  groves  and  gardens,  where  the  fire 
Of  wisdom,  as  a  fountain,  burned, 
And  every  eye  that  dared  aspire 
To  truth,  has  long  in  worship  turned : 
The  halls  and  porticoes,  where  trod 
The  moral  sage,  severe,  unstained, 
And  where  the  intellectual  god 
In  all  the  light  of  science  reigned : 
The  port,  from  whose  capacious  womb 
Her  navies  took  their  conquering  road, 
The  herald  of  an  awful  doom 
To  all,  who  would  not  kiss  her  rod: 
On  these  a  dawn  of  glory  springs, 
These  trophies  of  her  brighter  fame ; 
Away  the  long-chained  city  flings 
Her  weeds,  her  shackles,  and  her  shame. 
FROM  PERCIVAL. 


CLXXX.— GREEK  WAR  SONG. 

AGAIN  to  the  battle,  Achaians! 

Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance; 
Our  land, — the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree — 
It  has  been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the  free; 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted, 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted, 

And  we  march  that  the  footprints  of  Mohammed's  slaves 
May  be  washed  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers'  graves; 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us, 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  us. 


310  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Ah !  what  though  no  succor  advances, 
Nor  Christendom's  chivalrous  lances 

Are  stretched  in  our  aid  ?     Be  the  combat  our  own ! 

And  we'll  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone: 

For  we've  sworn,  by  our  country's  assaulters, 
By  the  virgins  they've  dragged  from  our  altars, 
By  our  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains, 
By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That  living,  we  will  be  victorious, 
Or  that  dying,  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not : 
The  sword  that  we  've  drawn  we  will  sheathe  not; 
Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid, 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 

Earth  may  hide;  waves  ingulf;  fire  consume  us, 
But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us : 
If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves: 
But  we've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves, 
And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us. 
To  the  charge!     Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

This  day!  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story, 
Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory  ? 
Our  women ! .  oh !  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair, 
Or  embrace  us  from  conquest,  with   wreaths   in  their  hair? 
Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken, 
If  a  coward  there  be  that  would  slacken, 
Till  we've  trampled  the  turban,  and  shown  ourselves  worth 
Being  sprung  from,  and  named  for,  the  godlike  of  earth. 
Strike  home!  and  the  world  shall  revere  us, 
As  heroes  descended  from  heroes. 

FROM  CAMPBELL. 


CLXXXI— THE  PILGRIMS.— No.  I. 

THIS  and  the  next  extract  may  be  spoken  separately  or  as  one. 

STAR  CHAMBER  ;  a  despotic  English  court.    CARR,  VILLIERS  ;  ambi- 
tious English  courtiers.     EL  DORADO;  a  fabulous  region  of  gold. 

FROM  the  dark  portals  of  the  Star  Chamber,  and  in  the 
stern  text  of  the  acts  of  uniformity,  the  Pilgrims  received 
a  commission  more  efficient  than  any  that  ever  bore  the 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  311 

royal  seal.  Their  banishment  to  Holland  was  fortunate. 
The  decline  of  their  little  company  in  a  strange  land,  was  for- 
tunate. The  difficulties  which  they  experienced  in  getting 
the  royal  consent  to  banish  themselves  to  this  wilderness, 
were  fortunate.  All  the  tears  and  heart-breakings  of  that 
ever  memorable  parting  at  Delfthaven,  had  the  happiest 
influence  on  the  rising  destinies  of  New  England. 

All  this  purified  the  ranks  of  the  settlers.  These  rough 
touches  of  fortune  brushed  off  the  light,  uncertain,  selfish 
spirits.  They  made  it  a  grave,  solemn,  self-denying  expedi- 
tion, and  required  of  those,  who  engaged  in  it,  to  be  so,  too. 
They  cast  a  broad  shadow  of  thought  and  seriousness  over 
the  cause.  And  if  this  sometimes  deepened  into  melan- 
choly and  bitterness,  can  we  find  no  apology  for  such  a 
human  weakness? 

It  is  sad,  indeed,  to  reflect  on  the  disasters  which  the 
little  band  of  pilgrims  encountered.  It  is  sad  to  see  a 
portion  of  them  the  prey  of  unrelenting  cupidity,  treach- 
erously embarked  in  an  unsound,  unseaworthy  ship,  which 
they  are  soon  obliged  to  abandon,  and  crowd  themselves 
into  one  vessel.  One  hundred  persons,  besides  the  ship's 
company,  in  a  vess.el  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  tuns  ! 

One  is  touched  at  the  story  of  the  long,  cold,  and  weary 
autumnal  passage ;  of  the  landing  on  the  inhospitable  rocks 
at  this  dismal  season ;  of  their  being  deserted,  before  long, 
by  the  ship  which  had  brought  them,  and  which  seemed 
their  only  hold  upon  the  world  of  fellow-men  ;  a  prey  to 
the  elements  and  to  want,  and  fearfully  ignorant  of  the 
numbers,  the  power,  and  the  temper  of  the  savage  tribes 
that  filled  the  unexplored  continent  upon  whose  verge 
they  had  ventured.  But  all  this  wrought  together  for 
good.  These  trials  of  wandering  and  exile,  of  the  ocean, 
the  winter,  the  wilderness,  and  the  savage  foe,  were  the 
final  assurance  of  success. 

It  was  these  that  put  far  away  from  our  father's  cause 
all  patrician  softness,  all  hereditary  claims  to  pre-eminence. 
No  effeminate  nobility  crowded  into  the  dark  and  austere 
ranks  of  the  Pilgrims.  No  Carr  or  Yilliers  would  lead  on 
the  ill-provided  band  of  despised  Puritans.  No  well  en- 


312  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

dowed  clergy  were  on  the  alert  to  quit  their  cathedrals,  and 
set  up  a  pompous  hierarchy  in  the  frozen  wilderness.  No 
craving  governors  were  anxious  to  be  sent  over  to  our 
cheerless  El  Dorados  of  ice  and  of  snow.  No.  They  could 
not  say  that  they  encouraged,  patronized,  or  helped  the 
Pilgrims. 

Their  own  cares,  their  own  labors,  their  own  counsels, 
their  own  blood,  contrived  all,  achieved  all,  bore  all,  sealed 
all.  They  could  not  afterward  fairly  pretend  to  reap  where 
they  had  not  sown.  And,  as  our  fathers  reared  this  broad 
and  solid  fabric  with  pains  and  watchfulness,  unaided, 
barely  tolerated,  it  did  not  fall  when  the  favor,  which  had 
always  been  withholden,  was  changed  into  wrath.  It  was 
not  crushed,  when  the  arm,  which  had  never  supported, 
was  raised  to  destroy  it.  FROM  EVERETT. 


CLXXXII.— THE  PILGRIMS.— No.  II. 

METHINKS  I  see  that  one,  solitary,  adventurous  vessel, 
the  May-Flower  of  a  forlorn  hope,  freighted  with  the  ex- 
iled Pilgrims,  and  bound  across  the  unknown  sea.  I  be- 
hold it  pursuing,  with  a  thousand  misgivings,  the  uncer- 
tain, the  tedious  voyage.  Suns  rise  and  set,  and  weeks 
and  months  pass,  and  winter  surprises  them  on  the  deep, 
but  brings  them  not  in  sight  of  the  wished-for  shore. 

I  see  them  now,  scantily  supplied  with  provisions,  crowded 
almost  to  suffocation  in  their  ill-stored  prison,  delayed  by 
calms,  pursuing  a  circuitous  route  ;  and  now  driven  in  fury 
before  the  raging  tempest,  on  the  high  and  giddy  waves. 
The  awful  voice  of  the  storm  howls  through  the  rigging. 
The  laboring  masts  seem  straining  from  their  base.  The 
dismal  sound  of  the  pumps  is  heard.  The  ship  leaps,  as  it 
were,  madly,  from  billow  to  billow.  The  ocean  breaks  and 
settles  with  ingulfing  floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and 
beats,  with  deadening,  shivering  weight,  against  the  stag- 
gered vessel. 

I  see  them,  escaped  from  these  perils,  pursuing  their  all 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  ^3 

but  desperate  undertaking,  and  landed,  at  last,  after  a  few 
months'  voyage,  on  the  ice-clad  rocks  of  Plymouth.  I  see 
them,  weak  and  weary  from  the  voyage,  poorly  armed, 
scantily  provisioned,  depending  on  the  charity  of  their 
ship-master  for  a  draught  of  beer  on  board,  drinking  noth- 
ing but  water  on  shore,  without  shelter,  without  means, 
surrounded  by  hostile  tribes. 

Shut  now  the  volume  of  history,  and  tell  me,  on  any 
principle  of  human  probability,  what  shall  be  the  fate  of 
this  handful  of  adventurers.  Tell  me,  man  of  military 
science,  in  how  many  months  were  they  all  swept  off  by  the 
thirty  savage  tribes,  enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of 
New  England?  Tell  me,  politician,  how  long  did  this 
shadow  of  a  colony,  on  which  your  conventions  and  treaties 
had  not  smiled,  languish  on  the  distant  coast?  Student  of 
history,  compare  for  me  the  baffled  projects,  the  deserted 
settlements,  the  abandoned  adventures  of  other  times,  and 
find  the  parallel  of  this. 

Was  it  the  winter's  storm,  beating  upon  the  houseless 
heads  of  women  and  children  ?  Was  it  hard  labor  and 
spare  meals?  Was  it  disease?  Was  it  the  tomahawk? 
Was  it  the  deep  malady  of  a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined  en- 
terprise, and  a  broken  heart,  aching,  in  its  last  moments, 
at  the  recollection  of  the  loved  and  left,  beyond  the  sea? 
Was  it  some,  or  all  of  these  united,  that  hurried  this  for- 
saken company  to  their  melancholy  fate  ? 

And  is  it  possible  that  none  of  these  causes,  that  not  all 
combined,  were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of  hope  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible, that,  from  a  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so  worthy, 
not  so  much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,  there  has  gone  forth 
a  progress  so  steady,  a  growth  so  wonderful,  an  expansion 
so  ample,  a  reality  so  important,  a  promise,  yet  to  be  ful- 
filled, so  glorious?  FKOM  EVERETT. 


NEW  EC.  S.— 27 


314  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CLXXXIII— ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER. 

LET  us  go  up  for  a  moment,  in  imagination,  to  yonder 
hill,  which  overlooks  the  village  and  the  bay,  and  suppose 
ourselves  standing  there  on  some  bleak,  ungenial  morning, 
in  November.  The  coast  is  fringed  with  ice.  Dreary 
forests,  interspersed  with  sandy  tracts,  fill  the  background. 
Nothing  of  humanity  quickens  on  the  spot,  save  a  few 
roaming  savages,  who,  ill  provided  with  what  even  they 
deem  the  necessaries  of  life,  are  digging  with  their  fingers 
a  scanty  repast  out  of  the  frozen  sands. 

No  friendly  light-houses  had  as  yet  hung  up  their  cressets 
upon  your  headlands.  No  brave  pilot-boat  was  hovering 
like  a  sea-bird  on  the  tops  of  the  waves,  beyond  the  Cape, 
to  guide  the  shattered  bark  to  its  harbor.  No  charts  and 
soundings  made  the  secret  pathways  of  the  deep  as  plain 
as  a  graveled  road  through  a  lawn.  No  comfortable  dwell- 
ing along  the  line  of  the  shore,  and  where  are  now  your 
well-inhabited  streets,  spoke  a  welcome  to  the  Pilgrim.  No 
steeple  poured  the  music  of  sabbath  morn  into  the  ear  of 
the  fugitive  for  conscience'  sake.  Primeval  wildness  and 
native  desolation  brood  over  sea  and  land. 

But  this  dreary  waste,  which  we  thus  contemplate  in  im- 
agination, and  which  the  Pilgrims  traversed  in  sad  reality, 
is  a  chosen  land.  It  is  a  theater  upon  which  an  all-glorious 
drama  is  to  be  enacted.  On  this  frozen  soil,  driven  from 
the  ivy-clad  churches  of  their  mother-land,  escaped,  at  last, 
from  loathsome  prisons,  the  meek  fathers  of  a  pure  church 
will  lay  the  spiritual  basement  of  their  temple.  Here,  on 
the  everlasting  rock  of  liberty,  they  will  establish  the  foun- 
dation of  a  free  state. 

This  feeble  company  is  not  to  be  marshaled  by  gartered 
statesmen  or  mitered  prelates.  Fleets  will  not  be  despatched 
to  convoy  the  little  band,  nor  armies  to  protect  it.  Had 
there  been  honors  to  be  won,  or  pleasures  to  be  enjoyed, 
or  plunder  to  be  grasped,  hungry  courtiers,  midsummer 
friends,  godless  adventurers,  would  have  eaten  out  the 
heart  of  the  enterprise. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  315 

Silken  Buckinghams  and  Somersets  would  have  blasted 
it  with  their  patronage.  But,  safe  amid  their  unenvied 
perils,  strong  in  their  inoffensive  weakness,  rich  in  their 
untempting  poverty,  the  patient  fugitives  are  permitted  to 
pursue  unmolested  the  thorny  paths  of  tribulation. 

"  Stern  famine  guards  the  solitary  coast, 
And  winter  barricades  the  realms  of  frost." 

That  single  dark  speck,  just  discernible  through  the  per- 
spective glass,  on  the  waste  of  waters,  is  the  fated  vessel. 
The  storm  moans  through  her  tattered  canvas,  as  she  creeps, 
almost  sinking,  to  her  anchorage  in  Provincetown  harbor; 
and  there  she  lies,  with  all  her  treasures,  not  of  silver  and 
gold,  (for  of  these  she  has  none,)  but  of  courage,  of  pa- 
tience, of  zeal,  of  high  spiritual  daring. 

So  often  as  I  dwell  in  imagination  on  this  scene ;  when 
I  consider  the  condition  of  the  Mayflower,  utterly  incapa- 
ble as  she  was  of  living  through  another  gale  ;  when  I 
survey  the  terrible  front  presented  by  our  coast  to  the  navi- 
gator, I  dare  not  call  it  a  mere  piece  of  good  fortune  that 
the  wall  of  the  shore  should  be  broken  by  this  extraordi- 
nary Cape,  as  if  on  purpose  to  receive  and  encircle  the  pre- 
cious vessel. 

As  I  now  see  her,  freighted  with  the  destinies  of  a  con- 
tinent, barely  escaped  from  the  perils  of  the  deep,  approach- 
ing the  shore  precisely  where  the  broad  sweep  of  this  most 
remarkable  headland  presents  almost  the  only  point,  at 
which,  for  hundreds  of  miles,  she  could,  with  any  ease  have 
made  a  harbor,  I  feel  my  spirit  raised  above  the  sphere  of 
mere  natural  agencies. 

I  see  the  mountains  of  New  England  rising  from  their 
rocky  thrones.  They  rush  forward  into  the  ocean,  settling 
down  as  they  advance;  and  there  they  range  themselves, 
as  a  mighty  bulwark  around  the  heaven-directed  vessel. 
Yes,  the  everlasting  G-od  himself  stretches  out  the  arm  of 
his  mercy  and  his  power,  in  substantial  manifestation,  and 
gathers  the  meek  company  of  his  worshipers,  as  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  FROM  EVEKETT. 


316  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CLXXXIV.— FRUITS  OF  THE  PILGRIM  ENTERPRISE. 

IF,  on  tins  day,  after  the  lapse  of  two  centuries,  one  of 
the  fathers  of  New  England,  released  from  the  sleep  of 
death,  could  reappear  on  earth,  what  would  be  his  emotions 
of  joy  and  wonder!  In  lieu  of  a  wilderness,  here  and 
there  interspersed  with  solitary  cabins,  where  life  was 
scarcely  worth  the  danger  of  preserving  it,  he  would  behold 
joyful  harvests,  a  population  crowded  even  to  satiety.  He 
would  see  villages,  towns,  cities,  states,  swarming  with  in- 
dustrious inhabitants,  hills  graced  with  temples  of  devo- 
tion, and  valleys  vocal  with  the  lessons  of  virtue. 

Casting  his  eye  on  the  ocean,  which  he  passed  in  fear 
and  trembling,  he  would  see  it  covered  with  enterprising- 
fleets  returning  with  the  whale,  as  their  captive,  and  the 
wealth  of  the  Indies  for  their  cargo.  He  would  behold  the 
little  colony  which  he  planted,  grown  into  gigantic  stature, 
and  forming  an  honorable  part  of  a  glorious  confederacy, 
the  pride  of  the  earth  and  the  favorite  of  heaven. 

He  would  witness  with  exultation  the  general  prevalence 
of  correct  principles  of  government  and  virtuous  habits  of 
action.  How  gladly  would  he  gaze  upon  the  long  stream 
of  light  and  renown  from  Harvard's  classic  fount,  and  the 
kindred  springs  of  Yale,  of  Providence,  of  Dartmouth,  and 
of  Brunswick.  Would  you  fill  his  bosom  with  honest 
pride,  tell  him  of  Franklin,  who  made  thunder  sweet  music, 
and  the  lightning  innocent  fireworks.  Tell  him  of  Adams, 
the  venerable  sage,  reserved  by  heaven,  himself  a  blessing, 
to  witness  its  blessing  on  our  nation:  of  Ames,  whose 
tongue  has  become  an  angel's :  of  Perry, 

"  Blest  by  his  God,  with  one  illustrious  day, 
A  blaze  of  glory  ere  he  passed  away." 

And  tell  him,  pilgrim  of  Plymouth,  these  are  thy  de- 
scendants. Show  him  the  stately  structures,  the  splendid 
benevolence,  the  masculine  intellect,  and  the  sweet  hospi- 
tality of  the  metropolis  of  New  England.  Show  him  the 
glorious  fruits  of  his  humble  enterprise,  and  ask  him  if  this, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.     .  317 

all  this,  be  not  an  atonement  for  his  sufferings,  a  recom- 
pense for  his  toils,  a  blessing  on  his  efforts,  and  a  heart- 
expanding  triumph  for  the  pilgrim  adventurer. 


CLXXXV.— THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

THE  Pilgrim  Fathers!  where  are  they? 

The  waves  that  brought  them  o'er, 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  and  throw  their  spray, 

As  they  break  along  the  shore : 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  as  they  rolled  that  day, 

When  the  Mayflower  moored  below, 
When  the  sea  around  was  black  with  storms, 

And  white  the  shore  with  snow. 

The  mists,  that  wrapped  the  Pilgrim's  sleep, 

Still  brood  upon  the  tide; 
And  his  rocks  yet  keep  their  watch  by  the  deep, 

To  stay  its  waves  of  pride. 
But  the  snow-white  sail,  that  he  gave  to  the  gale, 

When  the  heavens  looked  dark,  is  gone ; 
As  an  angel's  wing,  through  an  opening  cloud, 

Is  seen,  and  then  withdrawn. 

The  Pilgrim  exile!  sainted  name! 

The  hill,  whose  icy  brow 
Rejoiced  when  he  came,  in  the  morning's  flame, 

In  the  morning's  flame  burns  now. 
And  the  moon's  cold  light,  as  it  lay  that  night,    ; 

On  the  hill-side  and  the  sea, 
Still  lies  where  he  laid  his  houseless" head; 

But  the  Pilgrim!  where  is  he? 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers  are  at  rest. 

When  summer's  throned  on  high, 
And  the  world's  warm  breast  is  in  verdure  dressed, 

Go,  stand  on  the  hill  Avhere  they  lie. 
The  earliest  ray  of  the  golden  day 

On  that  hallowed  spot  is  cast; 
And  the  evening  sun,  as  he  leaves  the  world, 

Looks  kindly  on  that  spot  last. 


318  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

The  Pilgrim  spirit  has  not  fled; 

It  walks  in  noon's  broad  light; 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead, 

With  their  holy  stars  by  night. 
It  watches  the  bed  of  the  brave  who  have  bled, 

And  shall  guard  this  ice-bound  shore, 
Till  the  waves  of  the  bay,  where  the  Mayflower  lay, 
Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 

FROM  PIEKPONT. 


CLXXXVL—  THE  MARTYRS. 

WHAT  heard  I  then  ?     A  ringing  shriek  of  pain, 
Such  as  forever  haunts  the  tortured  ear, 
I  heard  a  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  strain, 
Piercing  the  flames,  untremulous  and  clear! 
The  rich  triumphal  tones !     I  knew  them  well, 
As  they  came  floating  with  a  breezy  swell! 
Man's  voice  was  there:  a  clarion  voice  to  cheer 
In  the  mid-battle :  ay,  to  turn  the  flying : 
Woman's:   that   might   have  sung  of  heaven   beside  the 
dying ! 

It  was  a  fearful,  yet  a  glorious  thing, 
To  hear  that  hymn  of  martyrdom,  and  know 
That  its  glad  stream  of  melody  could  spring 
Up  from  the  unsounded  gulfs  of  human  woe! 
Alvar!  Theresa!  what  is  deep?  what  strong? 
God's  breath  within  the  soul!     It  filled  that  song 
From  your  victorious  voices!     But  the  glow 
On  the  dry,  hot,  and  lurid  air  increased : 
Faint  grew  the  sounds:  more  faint:  I  listened:  they  had 
ceased! 

And  thou  indeed  hadst  perished,  my  soul's  friend! 
I  might  form  other  ties,  but  thou  alone 
Couldst  with  a  glance  the  vail  of  dimness  rend, 
By  other  years  o'er  boyhood's  memory  thrown! 
Others  might  aid  me  forward;  thou  and  I 
Had  mingled  the  fresh  thoughts  that  early  die : 
Once  flowering,  never  more !     And  thou  wert  gone  ! 
Who  could  give  back  my  youth,  my  spirit  free; 
Or  be  in  aught  again  what  thou  hadst  been  to  me? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  319 

And  yet  I  weep  thee  not,  thou  true  and  brave! 
I  could  not  weep !  there  gathered  round  thy  name 
Too  deep  a  passion  !     Thou  denied  a  grave ! 
Thou,  with  a  blight  flung  on  thy  soldier's  fame ! 
Had  I  not  known  thy  heart  from  childhood's  time? 
Thy  heart  of  hearts?     And  couldst  thou  die  for  crime? 
No!   had  all  earth  decreed  that  death  of  shame, 
I  would  have  set,  against  all  earth's  decree, 
The  inalienable  trust  of  my  firm  soul  in  thee! 

FKOM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


CLXXXVIL— THE  GUEBER. 

IN  this  extract  is  represented  the  defense  of  the  Guebers  against 
their  Turkish  oppressors. 

GUEBERS  ;  The  Turks  call  all  who  are  not  of  their  religion,  GIAOURS 
(jowrs,)  infidels,  or  GUEBERS,  the  latter  referring  particularly  to  Per- 
sians, subject  to  them. 

MOSLEMS  ;  Mohammedans ,  here,  Turks. 

GHOULS,  DIVES;  demons. 

IRAN  ;  Persia. 

BUT  see !  he  starts !  what  heard  he  then  ? 
That  dreadful  shout !  across  the  glen 
From  the  land-side  it  comes,  and  loud 
Rings  through  the  chasm ;  as  if  the  crowd 
Of  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell, 
Its  Ghouls,  and  Dives,  and  shapes  of  hell, 
Had  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 
So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout! 

"  They  come !  the  Moslems  come !"  he  cries, 
His  proud  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes; 
"  Now,  spirits  of  the  brave,  who  roam 
Enfranchised  through  yon  starry  dome, 
Rejoice!  for  souls  of  kindred  fire 
Are  on  the  wing  to  join  your  choir!" 

He  said;  and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 
To  their  young  loves,  reclimbed  the  steep 

And  gained  the  shrine ;  his  chiefs  stood  round ; 
Their  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap, 


320  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Together,  at  that  cry  accurst, 

Had,  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst, 

And  hark !  again !  again  it  rings, 

Near  and  more  near  its  echoings 

Peal  through  the  chasms  ! 

Oh !  who  that  then 

Had  seen  those  listening  warrior-men, 

With  their  swords  grasped,  their  eyes  of  flame, 

Turned  on  their  chief,  could  doubt  the  shame, 

The  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thrill 

To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still? 

He  read  their  thoughts ;  they  were  his  own ; 

"  What !  while  our  arms  can  wield  these  blades, 
Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

Without  one  victim  to  our  shades, 
One  Moslem  heart,  where,  buried  deep, 
The  saber  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
No,  God  of  Iran's  burning  skies ! 
Thou  scorn' st  the  inglorious  sacrifice. 
No,  though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft, 
Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  still  are  left: 
We'll  make  yon  valley's  reeking  caves 

Live  in  the  awestruck  minds  of  men, 
Till  tyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

Tell  of  the  Gueber's  bloody  glen! 

Follow,  brave  hearts!  this  pile  remains 
Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chains; 
But  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed, 
Who  sinks  entombed  in  Moslem  dead!" 

FROM  MOORE. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  321 


CLXXXVIII.— THE  PEASANT  BOY. 

CHARACTERS. — ALBERTI;  The  judge  whose  life  has  been  attempted. 
MONTALDI  ;  Albert? s  kinsman  and  pretended  friend.  JULIAN;  a  Peasant, 
accused  of  the  crime.  STEFANO  and  LUDOVICO;  Peasants. 

(Enter  guards  conducting  Julian.      The  others  follow.      Alberti  takes  the 
judge's  seat.} 

Alb.  MY  people!  the  cause  of  your  present  assemblage 
is  too  well  known  to  you.  You  come  to  witness  the  dis- 
pensations of  an  awful  but  impartial  justice;  ekher  to  re- 
joice in  the  acquittal  of  innocence  wrongfully  accused,  or 
to  approve  the  conviction  of  guilt,  arrested  in  its  foul 
career.  Personal  feelings  forbid  me  to  assume  this  seat 
myself.  Yet  fear  not,  but  that  it  will  be  filled  by  noble- 
ness and  honor.  To  Montaldi  only,  I  resign  it. 

Jul.  (Aside.)  He  my  judge!  then  I  am  lost  indeed. 

Alb.  Ascend  the  seat,  my  friend,  and  decide  from  it  as 
your  own  virtuous  conscience  shall  direct.  This  only  will 
1  say,  should  the  scales  of  accusation  and  defense  poise 
doubtfully,  let  mercy  touch  them  with  her  downy  hand, 
and  turn  the  balance  on  the  gentler  side. 

Mon.  (Ascending  the  seat.)  Your  will  and  honor  are 
niy  only  governors !  (Bows.)  Julian  !  stand  forth  !  you 
are  charged  with  a  most  foul  and  horrible  attempt-  upon 
the  life  of  my  noble  kinsman.  The  implements' of  murder 
have  been  found  in  your  possession,  and  many  powerful 
circumstances  combine  to  fix  the  guilt  upon  you.  What 
have  you  to  urge  in  vindication  ? 

Jul.  First,  I  affirm  by  that  power,  whom  vice  dreads  and 
virtue  reverences,  that  no  syllable  but  strictest  truth  shall 
pass  my  lips.  On  the  evening  of  yesterday,  I  crossed  the 
mountain  to  the  monastery  of  St.  Bertrand.  My  errand 
finished,  I  returned  directly  to  the  valley.  My  friends  saw 
me  enter  the  cottage;  soon  afterward,  a  strange  outcry 
recalled  me  to  the  door;  a  mantle  spread  before  the 
threshold  caught  my  eye.  I  raised  it  and  discovered  a 
mask  within  it.  The  mantle  was  newly  stained  with 
blood!  consternation  seized  upon  my  soul.  The  next 


322  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

minute  I  was  surrounded  by  guards,  and  accused  of  mur- 
der. They  produced  a  weapon  I  had  lost  in  defendihg  my- 
self against  a  ferocious  animal.  Confounded  by  terror 
and  surprise,  I  had  not  power  to  explain  the  truth,  and 
loaded  with  chains  and  reproaches,  I  was  dragged  to  the 
dungeons  of  the  castle.  Here  my  knowledge  of  the  dark 
transaction  ends,  and  I  have  only  this  to  add ;  I  may  be- 
come the  victim  of  circumstance,  but  I  never  have  been 
the  slave  of  crime! 

Mon.  (Smiling  ironically.)  Plausibly  urged.  Have  you 
no  more  to  offer? 

JuL     Truth  needs  but  few  words.     I  have  spoken  ! 

Mon.  Yet  bethink  yourself.  Dare  you  abide  by  this  wild 
tale,  and  brave  a  sentence  on  no  stronger  plea  ? 

JuL     Alas  !  I  have  none  else  to  offer. 

Mon.  You  say,  on  the  evening  of  yesterday,  you  visited 
the  monastery  of  St.  Bertrand. 

JuL    I  did. 

Mon.  Well !  at  what  time  did  you  quit  the  monastery  ? 

JuL     The  evening  bell  had  just  ceased  to  toll. 

Mon.  By  what  path  did  you  return  to  the  valley  ? 

JuL     Across  the  mountain. 

Mon.  Did  you  not  pass  through  the  wood  of  olives,  where 
the  dark  deed  was  attempted  ? 

JuL     (Recollecting.)  The  wood  of  olives  ? 

Mon.  Ha!  mark !  he  hesitates!  speak! 

JuL  No !  my  soul  scorns  to  tell  a  falsehood.  I  did  pass 
through  the  wood  of  olives. 

Mon.  Ay !  and  pursuit  was  close  behind.  Stefano !  you 
seized  the  prisoner? 

Stef.  I  did.  The  bloody  weapon  bore  his  name ;  the 
mask  and  mantle  were  in  his  hands ;  confusion  in  his 
countenance,  and  every  limb  shaking  with  alarm. 

Mon.  Enough!  heavens!  that  villainy  so  monstrous  should 
dwell  with  such  tender  youth!  I  fain  would  doubt,  and  in 
despite  of  reason,  hesitate  to  give  my  sentence.  But  con- 
viction glares  from  every  point,  and  incredulity  would  now 
be  madness.  Not  to  descant  on  the  absurdity  of  your  de- 
fense, a  tale  too  wild  for  romance  itself  to  sanction,  I  find 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  323 

from  your  admission,  a  chain  of  circumstance  that  confirms 
your  criminality.  The  time  at  which  you  passed  the  wood, 
and  the  hour  of  the  duke's  attack,  precisely  correspond. 
You  sought  to  rush  on  fortune  by  the  readiest  path,  and 
snatch  from  the  unwary  traveler  that  sudden  wealth  which 
honest  labor  could  only  by  slow  degrees  obtain.  Defeated 
in  the  dark  attempt,  you  fled;  pursuit  was  instant;  your 
steps  were  traced ;  and  at  the  very  door  of  your  cottage, 
you  were  seized  before  the  evidences  of  your  guilt  could  be 
secreted.  Oh !  wretched  youth,  I  warn  you  to  confess. 
Sincerity  can  be  your  only  claim  to  mercy. 

Jul.  My  heart  will  burst ;  but  I  have  spoken  truth.  Yes, 
heaven  knows  that  I  have  spoken  truth  ! 

Mon.  Then  I  must  execute  my  duty.  Death  is  my 
sentence. 

Jul.     Hold!     Pronounce  it  not  as  yet! 

Mon.  If  you  have  any  further  evidence,  produce  it. 

Jul.     (  With  despairing  energy.}     I  call  on  Ludovico  ! 
(Ludovico  steps  forward  with  alacrity.    Montaldi  recoils  with 
visible  trepidation.} 

Lud.  I  am  here  ! 

Mon.  And  what  can  he  unfold?  Only  repeat  that  which 
we  already  know.  I  will  not  hear  him ;  the  evidence  is 
perfect — 

Alb.  (Rising  with  warmth.}  Hold !  Montaldi,  Ludovico 
must  be  heard.  To  the  ear  of  justice,*the  lightest  syllable 
of  proof  is  precious. 

Mon.  (Confused.}  I  stand  rebuked.  Well,  Ludovico, 
present  your  evidence! 

Lud.  Mine  was  the  fortunate  arm  appointed  by  heaven 
to  rescue  the  duke.  I  fought  with  the  assassin,  and  drove 
him  beyond  the  trees  into  the  open  lawn.  I  there  distinctly 
marked  his  figure,  and  from  the  difference  in  the  hight 
alone,  I  solemnly  aver  Julian  can  not  be  the  person. 

Mon.  This  is  no  proof.  The  eye  might  easily  be  de- 
ceived. I  can  not  withhold  my  sentence  longer. 

Lud.  I  have  further  matter  to  advance.  Just  before  the 
ruffian  fled,  he  received  a  wound  across  his  right  hand. 
The  moonlight  directed  my  blow,  and  showed  me  that  the 


324  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

cut  was  deep  and  dangerous.  Julian's  fingers  bear  no  such 
mark. 

Mon.  (Evincing  great  emotion,  and  involuntarily  drawing 
his  glove  closer  over  his  hand)  A  wound  ?  mere  fable  ! 

Lud.  Nay,  more.  The  same  blow  struck  from  off  one  of 
the  assassin's  finger's,  a  jewel !  It  glittered  as  it  fell.  I 
snatched  it  from  the  grass ;  I  thrust  it  within  my  bosom, 
and  have  ever  since  preserved  it  next  my  heart.  I  now 
produce  it;  'tis  here;  a  ring;  an  amethyst  set  with  bril- 
liants ! 

Alb.  (Rising  hastily.)  What  say  you?  An  amethyst  set 
with  brilliants?  Even  such  I  gave  Montaldi.  Let  me 
view  it. 

( As  Ludovico  advances  to  present  the  ring  to  the  duke,  Mon- 
taldi rushes  with  frantic  impetuosity  between,  and  attempts  to 
seize  it.) 

Mon.  Slave !  resign  the  ring ! 

Lud.  I  will  yield  my  life  sooner! 

Mon.  Wretch!  I  will  rend  thy  frame  to  atoms.  (Tlwy 
struggle  ivith  violence,  Montaldi  snatches  at  the  ring,  Ludovico 
catches  his  hand  and  tears  off  the  glove;  the  wound  appears) 

Lud.  Thank  God !  murder  is  unmasked.  The  bloody 
mark  is  here!  Montaldi  is  the  assassin!  (All  rush  forward 
in  astonishment ;  Julian  drops  upon  his  knee  in  mute  thanks- 
giving.) 

Mon.  Shame  !  madness !   death ! 

Alb.    Eternal  providence!     Montaldi  a  murderer! 

Mon.  Ay!  accuse,  and  curse!  idiots!  dupes!  I  heed  you 
not.  I  can  but  die !  triumph  not,  Alberti,  I  trample  on 
thee  still !  (Draws  a  poniard  and  attempts  to  destroy  him- 
self;  the  weapon  is  wrested  from  his  hand  by  the  guards) 

Alb.    Fiend!  thy  power  to  sin  is  past. 

Mon.  (Delirious  with  passion)  Ha!  ha!  ha!  my  brain 
scorches,  and  my  veins  run  with  fire  !  disgraced,  dishonored! 
oh!  madness!  I  can  not  bear  it — save  me — oh! 

Alb.  Wretched  man  !  bear  him  to  his  chamber  :  his  pun- 
ishment be  hereafter.  (Montaldi  is  led  off) 

Jul.     Oh  !  my  joy  is  too  full  for  words  !. 

Alb.    Let  this  day,  through  each  returning  year,  become 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  325 

a  festival,  on  my  domain.  Heaven,  with  peculiar  favor, 
has  marked  it  for  its  own,  and  taught  us,  by  the  simple 
moral  of  this  hour,  that  however  guilt  may  vail  itself  in 
darkness,  an  omniscient  Judge  will  penetrate  each  hidden 
sin,  and  still  protect  the  good ! 

Jul.  The  peasant  boy,  redeemed  from  fate, 

Must  here  for  mercy  sue, 
He  dares  not  trust  decrees  of  state, 
Till  ratified  by  you. 

Alb.  Then  gentles !  prithee  grant  our  prayer, 

Nor  cloud  the  dawning  joy, 
"Not  guilty!"  by  your  hands  declare, 
And  save  the  peasant  boy! 


CLXXXIX.— ORATOR  CLIMAX. 

MR.  PRESIDENT.  Happiness  is  like  a  crow,  perched  upon 
the  neighboring  top  of  a  far  distant  mountain,  which  some 
fisherman  vainly  strives,  to  no  purpose,  to  ensnare.  He 
looks  at  the  crow,  Mr.  President, — and — Mr.  President,  the 
crow  looks  at  him  ;  and,  sir,  they  both  look  at  each  other. 
But  the  moment  he  attempts  to  reproach  him,  he  banishes 
away  like  the  schismatic  taints  of  the  rainbow,  the  cause 
of  which,  it  was  the  astonishing  and  perspiring  genius  of  a 
Newton,  who  first  deplored  and  enveloped. 

Can  not  the  poor  man  precipitate  into  all  the  beauties 
of  nature,  from  the  loftiest  mounting  up  to  the  most  hum: 
blest  valley,  as  well  as  the  man  prepossessed  of  indigence? 
Yes,  sir.  While  trilling  transports  crown  his  view,  and 
rosy  hours  allure  his  sanguinary  youth,  he  can  raise  his 
mind  up  to  the  laws  of  nature,  incompressible  as  they  are. 
We  can  view  the  lawless  storm  that  kindleth  up  the  tre- 
menjious  roaring  thunder,  and  fireth  up  the  dark  and  rapid 
lightnings,  and  causeth  it  to  fly  through  the  intensity  of 
space,  that  belches  forth  those  awful  and  sublime  meteors, 
and  roll-abolly-aliases,  through  the  unfathomable  regions 
of  fiery  hemispheres. 


326  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW    SPEAKER. 

Sometimes,  seated  in  some  lovely  retreat,  beneath  the 
shadowy  shade  of  an  umbrageous  tree,  at  whose  venal  foot 
flows  some  limping  stagnant  stream,  he  gathers  around  him 
his  wife  and  the  rest  of  his  orphan  children.  He  there 
takes  a  retrospective  view  upon  the  diagram  of  futurity, 
and  casts  his  eye  like  a  flashing  meteor  forward  into  the 
past.  Seated  in  their  midst,  aggravated  and  exhaled  by 
the  dignity  and  independence  coincident  with  honorable 
poverty,  his  countenance  irrigated  with  an  intense  glow  of 
self  deficiency  and  excommunicated  knowledge,  he  quietly 
turns  to  instruct  his  little  assemblage. 

He  there  endeavors  to  distill  into  their  young  youthful 
minds,  useless  lessons  to  guard  their  juvenile  youths  against 
vice  and  immortality.  There,  on  a  clear  sunny  evening, 
when  the'  silvery  moon  is  shining  forth  in  all  her  indul- 
gence and  ubiquity,  he  teaches  the  first  sediments  of  gas- 
tronomy, by  pointing  out  to  them  the  bear,  the  lion,  and 
many  other  fixed  invisible  consternations,  which  are  con- 
tinually involving  upon  their  axeltrees,  through  the  blue 
cerulean  fundamus  above. 

From  this  vast  ethereal  he  dives  with  them  to  the  very 
bottom  of  the  unfathomable  oceans,  bringing  up  from 
thence  liquid  treasures  of  earth  and  air.  He  then  courses 
with  them  on  the  imaginable  wing- of  fancy,  through  the 
boundless  regions  of  unimaginable  either,  until,  swelling 
into  impalpable  immensity,  he  is  forever  lost  in  the  infinite 
radiation  of  his  own  overwhelming  genius. 


CXC.— THE  ART  OF  PUFFING. 
VI'-VA  VO-CE;  with  the  living  voice. 

(Enter  Puff  on  one  side ;  and  Dangle  and  Sneer  on  the  other.) 

Puff.  MY  dear  Dangle,  how  is  it  with  you? 

Dang.  Mr.  Sneer,  give  me  leave  to  introduce  Mr.  Puff  to 
you. 

Puff.  Mr.  Sneer  is  this  ?     Sir,  he  is  a  gentleman  whom 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  327 

I  long  have  panted  for  the  honor  of  knowing ;  a  gentle- 
man whose  critical  talents  and  transcendent  judgment — 

Sneer.   Dear  sir — 

Dang.  Nay,  don't  be  modest,  Sneer  :  my  friend  Puff  only 
talks  to  you  in  the  style  of  his  profession. 

Sneer.  His  profession  ! 

Puff.  Yes,  sir.  I  make  no  secret  of  the  trade  I  follow, 
among  friends  and  brother  authors.  Dangle  knows  I  love 
to  be  frank  on  the  subject,  and  to  advertise  myself  viva 
voce.  I  am,  sir,  a  practitioner  in  panegyric ;  or,  to  speak 
more  plainly,  a  professor  of  the  art  of  puffing,  at  your  ser- 
vice, or  anybody  else's. 

Sneer.  Sir,  you  are  very  obliging !  I  believe,  Mr.  Puff, 
I  have  often  admired  your  talents  in  the  daily  prints. 

Puff.  Yes,  sir.  I  flatter  myself  I  do  as  much  business 
in  that  way  as  any  six  of  the  fraternity  in  town.  Very 
hard  work  all  the  summer.  Friend  Dangle  !  never  worked 
harder  ! 

Sneer.  But  I  should  think,  Mr.  Puff,  that  authors  would 
in  general  be  able  to  do  this  sort  of  work  for  themselves. 

Puff.  Why,  yes,  but  in  a  clumsy  way.  Besides,  we  look 
on  that  as  an  encroachment,  and  so  take  the  opposite  side. 
I  dare  say,  now,  you  co-nceive  half  the  very  civil  para- 
graphs and  advertisements  you  see,  to  be  written  by  the 
parties  concerned,  or  their  friends.  No  such  thing.  Nine 
out  of  ten,  manufactured  by  me  in  the  way  of  business. 

Sneer.   Indeed  ! 

Puff.  Even  the  auctioneers,  now,  the  auctioneers,  I  say, 
though  the  rogues  have  lately  got  some  credit  for  their 
language,  not  an  article  of  the  merit  is  theirs  !  Take  them 
out  of  their  stands,  and  they  are  as  dull  as  catalogues. 
No,  sir;  'twas  /first  enriched  their  style;  'twas  /first 
taught  them  to  crowd  their  advertisements  with  panegyri- 
cal superlatives,  each  epithet  rising  above  the  other,  like 
the  bidders  in  their  own  auction-rooms  ! 

Sneer.  But  pray,  Mr.  Puff,  what  put  you  on  exercising 
your  talents  in  this  way  ? 

Puff.  Sir,  sheer  necessity,  the  proper  parent  of  an  art 
so  nearly  allied  to  invention.  You  must  know,  Mr.  Sneer, 


328  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

that  from  the  first  time  I  tried  my  hand  at  an  advertise- 
ment, my  success  was  such,  that,  for  some  time  after,  I  led 
a  most  extraordinary  life  indeed. 

Sneer.   How,  pray? 

Puff.  Sir,  I  supported  myself  two  years  entirely  by  my 
misfortunes. 

Sneer.  By  your  misfortunes? 

Puff.  Yes,  sir,  assisted  by  long  sickness,  and  other 
occasional  disorders.  And  a  very  comfortable  living  I  had 
of  it. 

Sneer.  From  sickness  and  misfortunes! 

Puff.  Hark  ye!  By  advertisements,  "To  the  charita- 
ble and  humane !"  and  "  To  those  whom  Providence  hath 
blessed  with  affluence!" 

Sneer.  Oh,  I  understand  you. 

Puff.  And,  in  truth,  I  deserved  what  I  got.  For  I 
suppose  never  man  went  through  such  a  series  of  calami- 
ties in  the  same  space  of  time.  Sir,  I  was  five  times  made 
a  bankrupt,  and  reduced  from  a  state  of  affluence,  by  a 
train  of  unavoidable  misfortunes.  Then,  sir,  though  a  very 
industrious  tradesman,  I  was  twice  burnt  out,  and  lost  my 
little  all,  both  times.  I  lived  upon  those  fires  a  month. 
I  soon  after  was  confined  by  a  most  excruciating  disorder, 
and  lost  the  use  of  my  limbs.  That  told  very  well.  For 
I  had  the  case  strongly  attested,  and  went  about  collecting 
the  subscriptions  myself. 

Dang.  I  believe  that  was  when  you  first  called  on  me — 

Puff.  What!  in  November  last?  O  no.  I  was,  when 
I  called  on  you,  a  close  prisoner,  for  a  debt  benevolently 
contracted  to  serve  a  friend.  I  was  afterward  twice  tapped 
for  a  dropsy,  which  declined  into  a  very  profitable  con- 
sumption. I  was  then  reduced  to — 0  no — then  I  became 
a  widow,  with  six  helpless  children,  after  having  had 
eleven  husbands,  who  all  died,  leaving  me  in  depths  of 
poverty. 

Sneer.  And  you  bore  all  with  patience,  I  make  no  doubt. 

Puff.  Why,  yes.  Well,  sir,  at  last,  what  with  bank- 
ruptcies, fires,  gouts,  dropsies,  imprisonments,  and  other 
valuable  calamities,  having  got  together  a  pretty  handsome 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  329 

sum,  I  determined  to  quit  a  business  which  had  always 
gone  rather  against  my  conscience,  and  in  a  more  liberal 
way  still  to  indulge  my  talents  for  fiction  and  embellish- 
ment, through  my  favorite  channels  of  diurnal  communi- 
cation ;  and  so,  sir,  you  have  my  history. 

Sneer.  Most  obligingly  communicative,  indeed ;  and  your 
confession,  if  published,  might  certainly  serve  the  cause 
of  true  charity,  by  rescuing  the  most  useful  channels  of 
appeal  to  benevolence  from  the  cant  of  imposition.  But 
surely,  Mr.  Puff,  there  is  no  great  mystery  in  your  present 
profession  ? 

Puff-  Mystery  !  Sir,  I  will  take  upon  me  to  say  the 
matter  was  never  scientifically  treated,  nor  reduced  to  rule 
before. 

Sneer.  Reduced  to  rule? 

Puff.  0  yes,  sir  !  You  are  very  ignorant,  I  am  afraid. 
Yes,  sir,  puffing  is  of  various  sorts.  The  principal  are  : 
the  puff  direct,  the  puff  preliminary,  the  puff  collateral,  the 
puff  collusive,  and  the  puff  oblique,  or  by  implication. 
These  all  assume,  as  circumstances  require,  the  various 
forms  of  letter  to  the  editor,  occasional  anecdote,  impartial 
critique,  observation  from  correspondent,  or  advertisement 
for  the  party. 

Sneer.  The  puff  direct  I  can  conceive. 

Puff.  0  yes,  that 's  simple  enough.  For  instance,  a 
new  comedy  or  farce  is  to  be  produced  at  one  of  the  thea- 
ters. The  day  before  it  is  to  be  performed,  I  write  an  ac- 
count of  the  manner  in  which  it  was  received.  I  have  the 
plot  from  the  author,  and  only  add  :  Characters  strongly 
drawn — highly  colored — hand  of  a  master — fund  of  genu- 
ine humor — mine  of  invention — neat  dialogue — attic  salt ! 
Then,  for  the  performance  :  Mr.  Dodd  was  astonishingly 
great  in  the  character  of  Sir  Harry  !  That  universal  and 
judicious  actor,  Mr.  Palmer,  perhaps  never  appeared  to 
more  advantage  than  in  the  Colonel ;  but  it  is  not  in  the 
power  of  language  to  do  justice  to  Mr.  King!  Indeed,  he 
more  than  merited  those  repeated  bursts  of  applause  which 
he  drew  from  a  most  brilliant  and  judicious  audience !  As 
to  the  scenery :  the  miraculous  powers  of  Mr.  Low's  pencil 
NEW  EC.  8.— 28 


330  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

are  universally  acknowledged  !  In  short,  we  are  at  a  loss 
which  to  admire  most,  the  unrivaled  genius  of  the  author, 
the  great  attention  and  liberality  of  the  managers,  the 
wonderful  abilities  of  the  painter,  or  the  incredible  exer- 
tions of  all  the  performers  ! 

Sneer.  That's  pretty  well,  indeed,  sir. 

Puff,     0  !  cool,  quite  cool,  to  what  I  sometimes  do. 

Sneer.  And  do  you  think  there  are  any  who  are  influ- 
enced by  this? 

Puff.  0  !  yes,  sir.  The  number  of  those,  who  undergo 
the  fatigue  of  judging  for  themselves,  is  very  small  in- 
deed. 

Sneer.  Well,  sir,  the  puff  preliminary  ? 

Puff.     0 !  that,  sir,  does  well  in  the  form  of  caution. 

Dang.  Why,  Sneer,  you  will  be  quite  an  adept  in  the 
business. 

Puff.  Now,  sir,  the  puff  collateral  is  much  used  as  an 
appendage  to  advertisements,  and  may  take  the  form  of 
anecdote.  For  example :  Yesterday,  as  the  celebrated 
George  Bon-Mot  was  sauntering  down  St.  James'  street, 
he  met  the  lively  Lady  Mary  Myrtle,  coming  out.  of  the 
Park.  "  Why,  Lady  Mary,  I  'in  surprised  to  meet  you  in 
a  white  jacket;  for  I  expected  never  to  have  seen  you  but 
in  a  full-trimmed  uniform  and  a  light-horseman's  cap !" 
"Indeed,  George,  where  could  you  have  learned  that?" 
"  Why,"  replied  the  wit,  "I  just  saw  a  painting  of  you  in  a 
new  publication  called  the  Camp  Magazine  ;  which,  by-the- 
by,  is  a  very  clever  thing,  and  is  sold  at  No.  3,  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  way,  two  doors  from  the  printing  office, 
the  corner  of  Ivy  lane,  Paternoster  row,  price  only  one 
shilling  !" 

Sneer.  .Very  ingenious  -indeed  ! 

Puff.  But  the  puff  collusive  is  the  newest  of  any ;  for 
it  acts  in  the  disguise  of  determined  hostility.  It  is  much 
used  by  bold  booksellers  and  enterprising  poets.  "An  in- 
dignant correspondent  observes,  that  the  new  poem  called 
Beelzebub's  Cotillion,  is  one  of  the  most  unjustifiable  per- 
formances he  ever  read !  The  severity  with  which  certain 
characters  are  handled  is  quite  shocking  !  And  there  are 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  331 

many  descriptions  in  it  decidedly  indelicate.  The  shame- 
ful avidity  with  which  this  piece  is  bought  by  all  people 
of  fashion,  is  a  reproach  on  the  taste  of  the  times,  and  a 
disgrace  to  the  delicacy  of  the  age !"  Here,  you  see,  the 
two  strongest  inducements  are  held  forth  :  first,  that  no- 
body ought  to  read  it ;  and,  secondly,  that  everybody  "buys 
it;  on  the  strength  of  which,  the  publisher  boldly  prints 
the  tenth  edition,  before  he  had  sold  ten  of  the  first. 
Dang.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  In  truth,  I  know  it  is  so.  (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHERIDAN. 


CXCI.— DEFENSE  OF  SOCRATES.— No.  I. 

SOCRATES,  having  filled  high  offices  in  the  army  and  Senate  of 
Athens,  retired  from  a  sense  of  duty,  to  private  life,  and  devoted 
himself  entirely  to  the  gratuitous  instruction  of  his  younger  country- 
men, in  religion  and  virtue.  He  appears  to  have  attained  a  more 
correct  idea  of  the  true  God  and  the  principles  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion, than  any  heathen  of  whom  we  have  an  account.  His  virtuous 
life  excited  the  envy  of  his  countrymen,  and  he  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  executed,  upon  the  charge  of  impiety  and  of  corrupting  the 
youth. 

This  extract  and  the  two  succeeding  ones,  are  from  his  defense, 
and  may  be  spoken  separately,  or  either  two,  or  all  three,  together. 

"  I  AM  accused  of  corrupting  the  youth,  and  of  instilling 
dangerous  maxims  into  their  minds,  as  well  in  regard  to 
Divine  worship,  as  to  the  rules  of  government.  You  know, 
Athenians,  that  I  never  made  it  my  profession  to  teach. 
No  envy,  however  violent,  can  reproach  me  with  having 
ever  sold  my. instructions.  I  have  an  undeniable  evidence 
for  me  in  this  respect,  in  my  poverty. 

I  am  always  equally  ready  to  communicate  my  thoughts 
both  to  the  rich  and  the  poor,  and  to  give  them  opportu- 
nity to  question  or  answer  me.  I  lend  myself  to  every 
one  who  is  desirous  of  becoming  virtuous.  If,  among 
those  who  hear  me,  there  are  any  that  prove  either  good 
or  bad,  neither  the  virtues  of  the  one,  nor  the  vices  of  the 
other,  to  which  I  have  not  contributed,  are  to  be  ascribed 
to  me. 


332  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

My  whole  employment  is  to  counsel  the  young  and  the 
old  against  too  much  love  for  the  body,  for  riches  and  all 
other  precarious  things,  of  whatever  nature  they  be;  and 
against  too  little  regard  for  the  soul,  which  ought  to  be 
the  object  of  their  affection.  I  incessantly  urge  to  them, 
that  virtue  does  not  proceed  from  riches;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, riches  and  good,  from  virtue.  If  to  speak  in  this 
manner  be  to  corrupt  youth,  I  confess,  Athenians,  that  I 
am  guilty,  and  deserve  to  be  punished. 

If  what  I  say  be  not  true,  it  is  most  easy  to  convict  me 
of  falsehood.  I  see  here  are  a  great  number  of  my  dis- 
ciples. They  have  only  to  come  forward.  It  will,  perhaps, 
be  said,  that  the  regard  and  veneration  due  to  a  master 
who  has  instructed  them,  will  prevent  them  from  declaring 
against  me.  But  their  fathers,  brothers,  and  uncles,  can 
not,  as  good  relations  and  good  citizens,  excuse  themselves 
for  not  standing  forth  to  demand  vengeance  against  the 
corrupter  of  their  sons,  brothers,  and  nephews.  These  are, 
however,  the  persons  who  take  upon  them  my  defense,  and 
interest  themselves  in  the  success  of  my  cause. 


CXCII.— DEFENSE  OF  SOCRATES.— No.  II. 

PASS  on  me  what  sentence  you  please,  Athenians.  I  can 
neither  repent,  nor  alter  my  conduct.  I  must  not  abandon 
or  suspend  a  function  which  God  himself  has  imposed  on 
me.  Now,  he  has  charged  me  with  the  care  of  instructing 
my  fellow-citizens. 

If,  after  having  faithfully  kept  all  the  posts  wherein  I 
was  placed  by  our  generals,  the  fear  of  death  should  now 
make  me  abandon  that  in  which  the  Divine  Providence 
has  placed  me ;  this  would  be  a  most  criminal  desertion  in- 
deed, and  make  me  highly  Avorthy  of  being  cited  before 
this  tribunal,  as  an  impious  man,  who  does  not  believe  in 
the  gods. 

Should  you  resolve  to  acquit  me,  I  should  not,  Atheni- 
ans, hesitate  to  say,  I  honor  and  love  you.  But  I  shall 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  333 

choose  rather  to  obey  God  than  you.  To  my  latest  breath 
I  shall  never  renounce  my  philosophy,  nor  cease  to  exhort 
and  reprove  you  according  to  my  custom. 

I  will  say  to  each  of  you  as  occasion  offers  ;  "My  good 
friend  and  citizen  of  the  most  famous  city  in  the  world  for 
wisdom  and  valor,  are  you  not  ashamed  to  have  no  other 
thoughts  than  those  of  amassing  wealth,  and  of  acquiring 
glory,  credit,  and  dignities?  Are  you  not  ashamed  to 
neglect  the  treasures  of  prudence,  truth,  and  wisdom,  and 
take  no  pains  to  .render  your  soul  as  good  and  perfect  as 
it  is  capable  of  being?" 

I  am  reproached  with  abject  fear,  and  meanness  of 
spirit,  for  being  so  busy  in  imparting  my  advice  to  .every 
one  in  private,  and  for  having  always  avoided  to  be  present 
in  your  assemblies,  to  give  my  counsels  to  my  country.  I 
think  I  have  sufficiently  proved  my  courage  and  fortitude 
in  the  field,  where  I  have  borne  arms  with  you.  I  have 
proved  it,  also,  in  the  senate,  where  I  alone  opposed  the 
unjust  sentence  you  pronounced  against  the  ten  captains ; 
and  when,  upan  more  than  one  occasion,  I  opposed  the 
violent  and  cruel  orders  of  the  thirty,  tyrants. 

What  is  it  then  that  has  prevented  me  from  appearing 
in  your  assemblies?  Do  not  take  it  ill,  I  beseech  you,  if 
I  speak  my  thoughts  without  disguise,  and  with  truth  and 
freedom.  Every  man  who  would  generously  oppose  a  whole 
people,  either  among  us  or  elsewhere,  and  who  inflexibly 
applies  himself  to  prevent  the  violation  of  the  laws,  and 
the  practice  of  iniquity  in  a  government,  will  never  do  so 
long  with  impunity.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  such  a 
man,  if  he  has  any  thoughts  of  living,  to  remain  in  a  pri- 
vate station,  and  never  to  have  any  share  in  public  affairs. 


CXCIIL— DEFENSE  OF  SOCRATES.— No.  III. 

ATHENIANS,  if,  in  my  present  extreme  danger,  I  do  not 
imitate  the  behavior  of  those,  who,  upon  less  emergencies, 
have  implored  and  supplicated  their  judges  with  tears,  and 


334  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

have  brought  forth  their  children,  relations,  and  friends ; 
it  is  not  through  pride  and  obstinacy,  or  any  contempt  for 
you,  but  solely  for  your  honor,  and  for  that  of  the  whole 
city. 

You  should  know,  that  there  are  among  our  citizens 
those  who  do  not  regard  death  as  an  evil,  and  who  give 
that  name  only  to  injustice  and  infamy.  At  my  age,  and 
with  the  reputation,  true  or  false,  which  I  have,  would  it 
be  consistent  for  me,  after  all  the  lessons  I  have  given 
upon  the  contempt  of  death,  to  be  afraid  of  it  myself,  and 
to  belie,  in  my  last  action,  all  the  principles  and  senti- 
ments of  my  past  life? 

But  without  speaking  of  my  fame,  which  I  should  ex- 
tremely injure  by  such  a  conduct,  I  do  not  think  it  allow- 
able to  entreat  a  judge,  nor  to  be  absolved  by  supplica- 
tions. He  ought  to  be  influenced  only  by  reason  and  evi- 
dence. The  judge  does  not  sit  upon  the  bench  to  show 
favor,  by  violating  the  laws,  but  to  do  justice  in  conform- 
ing to  them.  He  does  not  swear  to  discharge  with  im- 
punity whom  he  pleases,  but  to  do  justice  where  it  is  due. 

Do  not,  therefore,,  expect  from  me,  Athenians,  that  I 
should  have  recourse  among  you  to  means  which  I  believe 
neither  honest  nor  lawful,  especially  upon  this  occasion, 
wherein  I  am  accused  of  impiety  by  Miletus.  If  I  should 
influence  you  by  my  prayers,  and  thereby  induce  you  to 
violate  your  oaths,  it  would  be  undeniably  evident,  that  I 
teach  you  not  to  believe  in  the  gods.  Even  in  defending 
and  justifying  myself,  I  should  furnish  my  adversaries 
with  arms  against  me,  and  prove  that  I  believe  in  no 
divinity. 

But  I  am  very  far  from  such  bad  thoughts.  I  am  more 
convinced  of  the  existence  of  God  than  my  accusers  are. 
I  am  so  convinced,  that  I  abandon  myself  to  God  and  you, 
that  you  may  judge  of  me  as  you  shall  deem  best  for  your- 
selves and  me." 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  335 


CXCIV.— EMMETT'S  DEFENSE.— No.  I. 

ROBERT  EMMETT,  a  young  Irish  patriot,  of  talent,  distinction,  and 
family,  took  an  active  part  in  the  Irish  rebellion  of  1803.  Upon  its 
failure,  lingering  to  take  leave  of  a  daughter  of  Curran,  (the  cele- 
brated Irish  barrister,)  to  whom  he  was  betrothed,  he  was  arrested, 
tried,  condemned,  and  executed.  The  lady  became  deranged,  and  her 
history  is  exquisitely  given  by  Irving  in  the  "  Broken  Heart,"  to  be 
found  in  the  New  Sixth  Eclectic  Reader  of  this  series,  page  140. 

This  extract  and  the  three  following,  form  the  principal  part  of 
Emmett's  defense,  which  was  delivered  impromptu,  and,  as  a  speci- 
men of  eloquence,  has  rarely  been  equaled.  These  extracts  may  be 
spoken  separately  or  together. 

I  AM  asked  what  I  have  to  say,  -why  sentence  of  death 
should  not  be  pronounced  on  me,  according  to  law.  I  have 
nothing  to  say  which  can  alter  your  predetermination,  or  that 
it  would  become  me  to  say  with  any  view  to  the  mitigation 
of  that  sentence  which  you  are  here  to  pronounce,  and 
which  I  must  abide.  But  I  have  that  to  say  which  interests 
me  more  than  life.  I  have  much  to  say,  why  my  reputa- 
tion should  be  rescued  from  the  load  of  false  accusation 
and  calumny  which  has  been  heaped  upon  it. 

I  do  not  imagine  that,  seated  where  you  are,  your 
minds  can  be  so  free  from  impurity  as  to  receive  the  least 
impression  from  what  I  am  going  to  utter.  I  have  no  hope 
that  I  can  anchor  my  character  in  the  breast  of  a  court, 
constituted  and  trammeled  as  this  is.  I  only  wish,  and  it 
is  the  utmost  I  expect,  that  your  lordships  may  suffer  it  to 
float  down  your  memories,  untainted  by  the  foul  breath  of 
prejudice,  until  it  finds  some  more  hospitable  harbor,  to 
shelter  it  from  the  rude  storm  by  which  it  is,  at  present, 
buffeted. 

Were  I  only  to  suffer  death,  after  being  adjudged  guilty 
by  your  tribunal,  I  should  bow  in  silence,  arid  meet  the  fate 
that  awaits  me,  without  a  murmur.  But  the  sentence  of 
the  law  which  delivers  my  body  to  the  executioner  will, 
through  the  ministry  of  that  law,  labor,  in  its  own  vindica- 
tion, to  consign  my  character  to  obloquy :  for  there  must 


336  M°GUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

be  guilt  somewhere ;  whether  in  the  sentence  of  the  court, 
or  in  the  catastrophe,  posterity  must  determine.  A  man  in 
my  situation,  has  not  only  to  encounter  the  difficulties  of 
fortune,  but  those  of  established  prejudice.  The  man  dies, 
but  his  memory  lives.  That  mine  may  not  perish,  that  it 
may  live  in  the  respect  of  .my  countrymen,  I  seize  upon 
this  opportunity  to  vindicate  myself  from  some  of  the 
charges  alleged  against  me. 

When  my  spirit  shall  be  wafted  to  a  more  friendly  port; 
when  my  shade  shall  have  joined  the  bands  of  those  mar- 
tyred heroes  who  have  shed  their  blood,  on  the  scaffold 
and  in  the  field,  in  defense  of  their  country  and  of  virtue  ; 
this  is  my  hope.  I  wish  that  my  memory  and  name  may 
animate  those  who  survive  me,  while  I  look  down  with 
complacency  on  the  destruction  of  that  perfidious  govern- 
ment, which  upholds  its  dominion  by  blasphemy  of  the 
Most  High ;  which  displays  its  power  over  man  as  over  the 
beasts  of  the  forest ;  which  sets  man  upon  his  brother,  and 
lifts  his  hand,  in  the  name  of  God,  against  the  throat  of  his 
fellow,  who  believes  or  doubts  a  little  more,  or  a  little  less, 
than  the  government  standard ;  a  government,  which  is 
steeled  to  barbarity  by  the  cries  of  the  orphans  and  the 
tears  of  the  widows  which  it  has  made. 


CXCV.-EMMETT'S  DEFENSE.— No.  II. 

MY  lords,  it  may  be  a  part  of  the  system  of  angry  jus- 
tice to  bow  a  man's  mind,  by  humiliation,  to  the  purposed 
ignominy  of  the  scaffold.  But  worse  to  me  than  the  scaf- 
fold's shame,  or  the  scaffold's  terrors,  would  be  the  shame 
of  such  foul  and  unfounded  imputations  as  have  been  laid 
against  me  in  this  court.  You,  my  lord,  are  a  judge.  I 
am  the  supposed  culprit.  I  am  a  man  :  you  are  a  man 
also.  By  a  revolution  of  power,  we  might  change  places, 
though  we  never  could  change  characters. 

If  I  stand  at  the  bar  of  this  court,  and  dare  not  vindi- 
cate my  character,  what  a  farce  is  your  justice!  If  I  stand 
at  this  bar,  and  dare  not  vindicate  my  character,  how  dare 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  337 

you  calumniate  it?  Does  the  sentence  of  death,  which 
your  unhallowed  policy  inflicts  on  my  body,  also  condemn 
my  tongue  to  silence,  and  my  reputation  to  reproach?  Your 
executioner  may  abridge  the  period  of  my  existence.  But 
while  I  exist,  I  shall  not  forbear  to  vindicate  my  character 
and  motives  from  your  aspersions. 

As  a  man  to  whom  fame  is  dearer  than  life,  I  will  make 
the  last  use  of  that  life  in  doing  justice  to  that  reputation 
which  is  to  live  after  me,  and  which  is  the  only  legacy  I 
can  leave  to  those  I  honor  and  love,  and  for  whom  I  am 
proud  to  perish.  As  men,  my  lord,  we  must  appear,  on 
the  great  day,  at  one  common  tribunal ;  and  it  will  then 
remain  for  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts  to  show  the  universe 
who  are  engaged  in  the  most  virtuous  actions,  or  actuated 
by  the  purest  motives, — my  country's  oppressors  or  de- 
fenders.* 

My  lord,  shall  a  dying  man  be  denied  the  legal  privi- 
lege of  exculpating  himself,  in  the  eyes  of  the  community, 
of  an  undeserved  reproach  thrown  upon  him  during  his 
trial,  by  charging  him  with  ambition,  and  attempting  to 
cast  away,  for  a  paltry  consideration,  the  liberties  of  his 
country?  Why,  then,  insult  me?  Or,  rather,  why  insult 
justice,  in  demanding  of  me  why  sentence  of  death  should 
not  be  pronounced? 

I  know,  my  lord,  that  form  prescribes  that  you  should 
ask  the  question;  the  form  also  presumes  the  right  of  an- 
swering! This,*  no  doubt,  may  be  dispensed  with;  and  so 
might  the  whole  ceremony  of  the  trial,  since  sentence  was 
already  pronounced  at  the  castle,  before  your  jury  was  im- 
paneled. Your  lordships  are  but  the  priests  of  the  oracle, 
and  I  submit  to  the  sacrifice;  but  I  insist  on  the  whole  of 
the  forms. 

*  The  judge  exclaimed :  "  Listen,  sir,  to  the  sentence  of  the  law." 


NEW  EC.  S.— 29 


338  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXCVL— EMMETT'S  DEFENSE.— No.  III. 

I  AM  charged  with  being  an  emissary  of  France.  An 
emissary  of  France?  and  for  what  end?  It  is  alleged  that 
I  wished  to  sell  the  independence  of  my  country !  And 
for  what  end?  Was  this  the  object  of  my  ambition?  And 
is  this  the  mode  by  which  a  tribunal  of  justice  reconciles 
contradictions?  No!  I  am  no  emissary.  My  ambition 
was  to  hold  a  place  among  the  deliverers  of  my  country; 
not  in  power,  nor  in  profit,  but  in  the  glory  of  the  achieve- 
ment. 

Sell  my  country's  independence  to  France?  And  for 
what?  For  a  change  of  masters?  No;  but  for  ambition! 
0,  my  country !  was  it  personal  ambition  that  could  in- 
fluence me?  Had  that  been  the  soul  of  my  actions,  could 
I  not,  by  my  education  and  fortune,  by  the  rank  and  con- 
sideration of  my  family,  have  placed  myself  among  the 
proudest  of  your  oppressors  ?  My  country  was  my  idol. 
To  it  I  sacrificed  every  selfish,  every  endearing  sentiment ; 
and  for  it  I  now  offer  up  my  life  ! 

No!  my  lord.  I  acted  as  an  Irishman,  determined  on 
delivering  my  country  from  the  yoke  of  a  foreign  and  un- 
relenting tyranny,  and  from  the  more  galling  yoke  of  a 
domestic  faction,  its  joint  partner  and  perpetrator  in  the 
parricide,  whose  reward  is  the  ignominy  of  existing  with 
an  exterior  of  splendor,  and  a  consciousness  of  depravity. 
It  was  the  wish  of  my  heart  to  extricate  my  country  from 
this  doubly  riveted  despotism.  I  wished  to  place  her  in- 
dependence beyond  the  reach  of  any  power  on  earth.  I 
wished  to  exalt  her  to  that  proud  station  in  the  world 
which  Providence  had  fitted  her  to  fill. 

Connection  with  France  was,  indeed,  intended ;  but  only 
so  far  as  mutual  interest  would  sanction  or  require.  Were 
the  French  to  assume  any  authority  inconsistent  with  the 
purest  independence,  it  would  be  the  signal  for  their  de- 
struction. We  sought  aid  of  them  ;  and  we  sought  it,  as 
we  had  assurance  we  should  obtain  it;  as  auxiliaries  in 
war,  and  allies  in  peace.  Were  the  French  to  come  as 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  339 

invaders  or  enemies,  uninvited  by  the  wishes  of  the  people, 
I  should  oppose  them  to  the  utmost  of  my  strength. 

Yes,  my  countrymen,  I  would  meet  them  on  the  beach, 
with  a  sword  in  one  hand,  and  a  torch  in  the  other.  I  would 
meet  them  with  all  the  destructive  fury  of  war  j  and  I  would 
animate  you  to  immolate  them  in  their  boats,  before  they  had 
contaminated  the  soil.  If  they  succeeded  in  landing,  and  if 
we  were  forced  to  retire  before  superior  discipline,  I  would 
dispute  every  inch  of  ground,  raze  every  house,  burn  every 
blade  of  grass  before  them,  and  the  last  intrenchment  of 
liberty  should  be  my  grave.  What  I  could  not  do  myself, 
if  I  should  fall,  I  would  leave  in  charge  to  my  countrymen 
to  accomplish;  because  I  should  feel  conscious  that  life, 
more  than  death,  is  unprofitable,  when  a  foreign  nation 
holds  my  country  in  subjection. 

But  it  was  not  as  an  enemy  that  the  succors  of  France 
were  to  land.  I  looked,  indeed,  for  the  assistance  of  France. 
But  I  wished  to  prove  to  France,  and  to  the  world,  that 
Irishmen  deserved  to  be  assisted ;  that  they  were  indignant 
at  slavery,  and  ready  to  assert  the  independence  and  liberty 
of  their  country  !  I  wished  to  procure  for  my  country  the 
guarantee  which  Washington  procured  for  America;  to  pro- 
cure an  aid,  which,  by  its  example,  would  be  as  important 
as  by  its  valor ;  allies  disciplined,  gallant,  pregnant  with 
science  and  experience;  who  would  preserve  the  good  and 
polish  the  rough  points  of  our  character;  who  would  come 
to  us  as  strangers,  and  leave  us  as  friends,  after  sharing  our 
perils  and  elevating  our  destiny. 

These  were  my  objects;  not  to  receive  new  task -masters, 
but  to  expel  old  tyrants.  These  were  my  views,  and  these 
only  become  Irishmen.  It  was  for  these  ends  I  sought  aid 
from  France,  because  France,  even  as  an  enemy,  could  not 
be  more  implacable  than  the  enemy  already  in  the  bosom 
of  my  country. 


340  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXCVII.— EMMETT'S  DEFENSE.— No.  IV. 

I  HAVE  been  charged  with  that  importance,  in  the  efforts 
to  emancipate  my  country,  as  to  be  considered  the  key-stone 
of  the  combination  of  Irishmen,  or,  as  your  lordship  ex- 
pressed it,  "the  life  and  blood  of  the  conspiracy."  You  do 
me  honor  overmuch.  You  have  given  to  the  subaltern  all 
the  credit  of  a  superior.  There  are  men  engaged  in  this 
conspiracy  who  are  not  only  superior  to  me,  but  even  to 
your  own  conceptions  of  yourself,  my  lord;  men,  before 
the  splendor  of  whose  genius  and  virtues  I  should  bow  with 
respectful  deference,  and  who  would  think  themselves  dis- 
honored to  be  called  your  friends,  who  would  not  disgrace 
themselves  by  shaking  your  blood-stained  hand  !* 

What,  my  lord,  shall  you  tell  me,  on  the  passage  to  the 
scaffold  which  that  tyranny,  of  which  you  are  only  the  in- 
termediate minister,  has  erected  for  my  murder,  that  I  am 
accountable  for  all  the  blood  that  has  been  and  will  be  shed, 
in  this  struggle  of  the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor? 
Shall  you  tell  me  this,  and  must  I  be  so  very  a  slave  as  not 
to  repel  it?  I,  who  fear  not  to  approach  the  Omnipotent 
Judge,  to  answer  for  the  conduct  of  my  short  life, — am  I 
to  be  appalled  here,  before  a  mere  remnant  of  mortality  f  by 
you,  too,  who,  if  it  were  possible  to  collect  all  the  innocent 
blood  that  you  have  caused  to  be  shed,  in  your  unhallowed 
ministry,  in  one  great  reservoir,  your  lordship  might  swim 
in  it! 

Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge  me  with  dis- 
honor. Let  no  man  attaint  my  memory  by  believing  that 
I  could  have  engaged  in  any  cause  but  that  of  my  country's 
liberty  and  independence,  or  that  I  could  have  become  the 
pliant  minion  of  power  in  the  oppression  and  miseries  of 
my  countrymen.  I  would  not  have  submitted  to  a  foreign 
oppressor,  for  the  same  reason  that  I  would  resist  the  do- 
mestic tyrant.  In  the  dignity  of  freedom  I  would  have 
fought  upon  the  threshold  of  my  country,  and  its  enemy 

*  Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  Court. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  341 

should  enter  only  by  passing  over  my  lifeless  corpse.  And 
am  I,  who  lived  but  for  my  country ;  who  have  subjected 
myself  to  the  dangers  of  the  jealous  and  watchful  oppressor, 
and  now  to  the  bondage  of  the  grave,  only  to  give  my  coun- 
trymen their  rights,  and  my  country  her  independence  ;  am 
I  to  be  loaded  with  calumny,  and  not  suffered  to  resent  it? 
God  forbid ! 

If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in  the 
concerns  and  cares  .of  those  who  were  dear  to  them  in  this 
transitory  life,  O,  ever  dear  and  venerated  shade  of  my  de- 
parted father,  look  down  with  scrutiny  upon  the  conduct 
of  your  suffering  son,  and  see  if  I  have,  even  for  a  moment, 
deviated  from  those  principles  of  morality  and  patriotism 
which  it  was  your  care  to  instill  into  my  youthful  mind,  and 
for  which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  life ! 

My  lords,  you  seem  impatient  for  the  sacrifice.  The 
blood  for  which  you  thirst  is  not  congealed  by  the  artificial 
terrors  which  surround  your  victim.  It  circulates,  warmly 
and  unruffled,  through  the  channels  which  God  created  for 
nobler  purposes,  but  which  you  are  bent  to  destroy,  for  pur- 
poses so  grievous,  that  they  cry  to  Heaven.  Be  yet  patient ! 
I  have  but  a  few  words  more  to  say.  I  am  going  to  my 
cold  and  silent  grave.  My  lamp  of  life  is  nearly  extin- 
guished. My  race  is  run.  The  grave  opens  to  receive  me, 
and  I  sink  into  its  bosom! 

I  have  but  one  request  to  ask,  at  my  departure  from  this 
world;  it  is  the  charity  of  its  silence.  Let  no  man  write 
my  epitaph;  for,  as  no  man  who  knows  my  motives  dare 
now  vindicate  them,  let  not  prejudice  or  ignorance  asperse 
them.  Let  them  and  me  repose  in  obscurity  and  peace,  and 
my  tomb  remain  uninscribed,  until  other  times  and  other 
men  can  do  justice  to  my  character.  When  my  country 
takes  her  place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  then,  and 
not  till  then,  let  my  epitaph  be  written  ! 


342  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 


CXCVIII.— IRELAND. 

A  BILL  being  before  the  English  Parliament,  which  O'Connell,  the 
member  from  Ireland,  considered  oppressive  to  his  country,  he  de- 
livered a  speech  against  it,  of  which  the  following  is  an  extract. 

I  DO  not  rise  to  fawn  or  cringe  to  this  House.  I  do  not 
rise  to  supplicate  you  to  be  merciful  toward  the  nation  to 
which  I  belong ;  toward  a  nation  which,  though  subject  to 
England,  yet  is  distinct  from  it.  It  is  a  distinct  nation. 
It  has  been  treated  as  such  by  this  country,  as  may  be 
proved  by  history,  and  by  seven  hundred  ye:irs  of  tyranny. 
I  call  upon  this  House,  as  you  value  the  liberty  of  Eng- 
land, not  to  allow  the  present  nefarious  bill  to  pass.  In  it 
are  involved  the  liberties  of  England,  the  liberty  of  the 
press,  and  of  every  other  institution  dear  to  Englishmen. 
Against  the  bill  I  protest,  in  the  name  of  the  Irish  peo- 
ple, and  in  the  face  of  Heaven. 

I  treat  with  scorn  the  puny  and  pitiful  assertions,  that 
grievances  are  not  to  be  complained  of;  that  our  redress  is 
not  to  be  agitated  ;  for,  in  such  cases,  remonstrances  can 
not  be  too  strong,  agitation  can  not  be  too  violent,  to 
show  to  the  world  with  what  injustice  our  fair  claims  are 
met,  and  under  what  tyranny  the  people  suffer. 

The  clause  which  does  away  with  trial  by  jury ;  what  is 
it,  if  it  is  not  the  establishment  of  a  revolutionary  tribu- 
nal? It  drives  the  judge  from  his  bench.  It  does  away 
with  that  which  is  more  sacred  than  the  throne  itself;  that 
for  which  your  king  reigns,  your  lords  deliberate,  your 
commons  assemble.  If  ever  I  doubted,  before,  of  the  suc- 
cess of  our  agitation  for  repeal,  this  bill,  this  infamous 
bill;  the  way  in  which  it  has  been  received  by  the  House; 
the  manner  in  which  its  opponents  have  been  treated;  the 
personalities  to  which  they  have  been  subjected ;  the  yells 
with  which  one  of  them  has  this  night  been  greeted ;  all 
these  things  dissipate  my  doubts,  and  tell  me  of  its  com- 
plete and  early  triumph. 

Do  you  think  those  yells  will  be  forgotten  ?  Do  you 
suppose  their  echo  will  not  reach  the  plains  of  my  injured 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  343 

and  insulted  country;  that  they  will  not  be  whispered  in 
her  green  valleys,  and  heard  from  her  lofty  hills?  0, 
they  will  be  heard  there  !  Yes;  and  they  will  not  be  for- 
gotten. The  youth  of  Ireland  will  bound  with  indigna- 
tion; they  will  say,  "We  are  eight  millions;  and  you  treat 
us  thus,  as  though  we  were  no  more  to  your,  country  than 
the  isle  of  Guernsey  or  of  Jersey !" 

I  have  done  my  duty.  I  stand  acquitted  to  my  con- 
science and  my  country.  I  have  opposed  this  measure 
throughout.  I  now  protest  against  it,  as  harsh,  oppressive, 
uncalled  for,  unjust;  as  establishing  an  infamous  prece- 
dent, by  retailing  crime  against  crime;  as  tyrannous,  cru- 
elly and  vindictively  tyrannous!  FROM  O'CONNELL. 


CXCIX.— BERTRAM. 

BERTRAM,  a  character  in  Rokeby,  one  of  Scott's  poems,  is  a  ruf- 
fian soldier  of  the  middle  ages,  remarkable  for  his  courage  and  de- 
pravity. 

OSWALD  is  a  feudal  chief,  who  has  employed  Bertram  to  kill  his 
own  chief  in  battle,  leaving  the  supposition  that  he  fell  in  the  contest. 
The  murderer  is  discovered,  and  obliged^  to  flee,  while  Oswald,  to 
get  rid  of  his  accomplice,  and  lull  suspicion,  sets  a  price  upon  his 
head.  Revenge  for  this  is  taken,  and  both  murderers  punished,  in 
the  manner  described  in  this  extract. 

THE  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  hardened  ground; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near ; 
The  very  death' s-men  paused  to  hear. 
'Tis  in  the  churchyard  now;  the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead! 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  trarnp  in  varied  tone. 

All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung, 

When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 

A  horseman  armed,  at  headlong  speed ; 

Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed. 

Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurned, 

The  vaults  unwonted  clang  returned ! 


344  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddle-bow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look! 
His  charger  with  his  spurs  he  struck; 
All  scattered  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham ! 

Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave; 
The  first  has  reached  the  central  nave, 
The  second  cleared  the  chancel  wide, 
The  third  he  was  at  Wyeliffe's  side ! 
Full  leveled  at  the  Baron's  head, 
Rang  the  report;  the  bullet  sped; 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last, 
Without  a  groan,  dark  Oswald  past. 
All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels; 
But  floundered  on  the  pavement  floor 
The  steed ;  and  down  the  rider  bore ; 
And  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'Twas  while  he  toiled  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
That  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wyclifle's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 

Sword,  halberd,  musket-butt,  their  blows 
Hailed  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound, 
Bore  down  and  pinned  him  to  the  ground; 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears; 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free, 
Once  gained  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee, 
By  tenfold  odds  oppressed,  at  length, 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took  a  hundred  mortal  wounds, 
As  mute  as  fox  'mong  mangling  hounds; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  345 

They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies, 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain, 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again ! 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renewed,    • 
And  from  the  trunk  the  head  had  hewed, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade ; 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid ; 
"Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind: 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding-sheet." 
FROM  SCOTT. 


CC.— MAZEPPA. 

IN  the  following  extract  from  one  of  Byron's  poems,  Mazeppa,  a 
Cossack  prince  and  an  officer  in  the  army  of  Charles  XII,  of  Sweden, 
describes  the  manner  in  which,  in  his  youth,  falling  into  the  hands 
of  an  enemy,  he  was  turned  loose  on  a  wild  horse  to  perish.  The  horse 
died  under  him,  but  he  was  discovered  by  some  cottagers,  and  his  life 
preserved. 

"BRING  forth  the  horse!"  the  horse  was  brought; 

In  truth,  he  was  a  noble  steed, 

A  Tartar  of  the  Ukraine  breed, 
Who  looked  as  though  the  speed  of  thought 
Were  inr  his  limbs;  but  he  was  wild, 
Wild  as  the  wild  deer,  and  untaught, 

With  spur  and  bridle  undefined ; 
'T  was  but  a  day  he  had  been  caught ; 

And  snorting  with  erected  mane, 

And  struggling  fiercely,  but  in  vain, 
In  the  full  foam  of  wrath  and  dread, 
To  me  the  desert-born  was  led. 

They  bound  me  on,  that  menial  throng, 
Upon  his  back  with  many  a  thong; 

They  loosed  him  with  a  sudden  lash: 

Away!  away!  and  on  we  dash! 

Torrents  less  rapid  and  less  rash. 
Away,  away,  my  steed  and  I, 

Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind, 

All  human  dwellings  left  behind; 


340  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

We  sped  like  meteors  through  the  sky, 
When  with  its  crackling  sound,  the  night 
Is  checkered  with  the  northern  light. 

Town,  village,  none  were  on  our  track, 
But  a  wild  plain  of  far  extent, 
And  bounded  by  a  forest  black. 
The  sky  was  dull,  and  dim,  and  gray, 
And  a  low  breeze  crept  moaning  by. 
I  could  have  answered  with  a  sigh; 

But  fast  we  fled,  away,  away, 

And  I  could  neither  sigh  nor  pray ; 

And  my  cold  sweat-drops  fell,  like  rain, 
Upon  the  courser's  bristling  mane. 

We  neared  the  wild-wood;  'twas  so  wide, 
I  saw  no  bounds  on  either  side; 
The  boughs  gave  way,  and  did  not  tear 
My  limbs,  and  I  found  strength  to  bear 
My  wounds,  already  scarred  with  cold; 
My  bonds  forbade  to  loose  my  hold. 
We  rustled  through  the  leaves  like  wind, 
Left  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  wolves  behind. 
By  night  I  heard  them  on  my  track; 
Their  troop  came  hard  upon  our  back, 
With  their  long  gallop,  which  can  tire 
The  hound's  deep  hate,  and  hunter's  fire: 

Where'er  we  flew  they  followed  on, 
Nor  left  us  with  the  morning  sun. 

Oh !  how  I  wished  for  spear  or  sword, 
At  least  to  die  amid  the  horde, 
And  perish,  if  it  must  be  so, 
At  bay,  destroying  many  a  foe. 
My  heart  turned  sick,  my  brain  grew  sore, 
And  throbbed  awhile,  then  beat  no  more, 
The  skies  spun  like  a  mighty  wheel : 
I  saw  the  trees  like  drunkards  reel, 
And  a  light  flash  sprung  o'er  my  eyes, 
Which  saw  no  further.     He  who  dies, 
Can  die  no  more  than  then  I  died, 
O'ertortured  by  that  ghastly  ride. 

At  length,  while  reeling  on  our  way, 
Methought  I  heard  a  courser  neigh, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  347 

From  out  yon  tuft  of  blackening  firs. 
Is  it  the  wind  those  branches  stirs  ? 

No !  no !  from  out  the  forest  prance 
A  trampling  troop !  I  see  them  come ! 
In  one  vast  squadron  they  advahce ! 
The  sight  renerved  my  courser's  feet, 
A  moment  staggering,  feebly  fleet, 
A  moment  with  a  faint  low  neigh, 

He  answered,  and  then  fell; 
With  gasps  and  glazing  eyes  he  lay, 

And  reeking  limbs  immovable. 
His  first  and  last  career  is  done ! 

On  came  the  troop ;  they  saw  him  stoop ; 
They  saw  me  strangely  bound  along 
His  back  with  many  a  bloody  thong ; 
They  snort,  they  foam,  neigh,  swerve  aside, 
And  backward  to  the  forest  fly, 
By  instinct,  from  a  human  eye. 

They  left  me  there  to  my  despair, 
Linked  to  the  dead  and  stiffening  wretch, 
Whose  lifeless  limbs  beneath  me  stretch, 
Relieved  from  that  unwonted  weight, 
From  which  I  could  not  extricate 
Nor  him  nor  me;  and  there  we  lay, 
The  dying  on  the  dead. 

FROM  BYRON. 


CCL— THE  HUNTER'S  SONG. 

BURST  AT  THE  COVER;    the  starting  of  the  game  from  the  under- 
brush which  covered  it. 

RISE!     Sleep  no  more!     'Tis  a  noble  morn: 
The  dews  hang  thick  on  the  frin-ged  thorn, 
And  the  frost  shrinks  back,  like  a  beaten  hound, 
Under  the  steaming,  steaming  ground. 
Behold,  where  the  billowy  clouds  flow  by, 
And  leave  us  alone  in  the  clear,  gray  sky! 
Our  horses  are  ready  and  steady.     So,  ho ! 
We  are  gone,  like  a  dart  from  the  Tartar's  bow. 


348  M<>GUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Hark!  hark!     Who  calleth  the  maiden  morn 
From  her  sleep  in  the  woods  and  the  stubble  corn  ? 

The  horn!     The  horn! 
The  merry,  sweet  ring  of  the  hunter's  horn. 

Now,  through  the  copse,  where  the  fox  is  found, 
And  over  the  stream  at  a  mighty  bound. 
And  over  the  highlands,  and  over  the  low, 
O'er  furrows,  o'er  meadows,  the  hunters  go  ! 
Away!  as  a  hawk  flies  full  at  its  prey, 
So  flieth  the  hunter !  away !  away  ! 
From  the  burst  at  the  cover  till  set  of  sun, 
When  the  red  fox  dies,  and the  day  is  done. 

Hark !  hark  !     What  sound  on  the  wind  is  borne  ? 
'Tis  the  conquering  voice  of  the  hunter's  horn. 

The  horn  !     The  horn ! 
The  merry,  bold  voice  of  the  hunter's  horn. 

Sound,  sound  the  horn  !     To  the  hunter  good, 
What's  the  gully  deep,  or  the  roaring  flood? 
Right  over  he  bounds,  as  the  wild  stag  bounds, 
At  the  heels  of  his  swift,  sure,  silent  hounds. 
0,  ivJiat  delight  can  a  mortal  lack, 
When  he  once  is  firm  on  his  horse's  back, 
With  his  stirrups  short,  and  his  snaffle  strong, 
And  the  blast  of  the  horn  for  his  morning  song? 

Hark !  hark  !     Now,  home  !  and  dream,  till  morn, 
Of  the  bold,  sweet  sound  of  the  hunter's  horn  ! 

The  horn!     The  horn  ! 

O,  the  sound  of  all  sounds  is  the  hunter's  horn  I 

FROM  PROCTOR. 


CCII— CALL  ON  HUNGARY. 
KNOUT*,  an  instrument  of  punishment,  used  in  Russia. 

OUR  fatherland  is  in  danger.  Citizens  of  the  fatherland! 
To  arms!  To  arms!  If  we  believed  the  country  could  be 
saved  by  ordinary  means,  we  would  not  cry  that  it  is  in 
danger.  If  we  stood  at  the  head  of  a  cowardly,  childish 
nation,  which,  in  the  hour  of  peril,  prefers  defeat  to  de- 
fense, we  would  not  sound  the  alarm-bell.  But  because 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  349 

we  know  that  the  people  of  our  land  compose  a  manly  na- 
tion, determined  to  defend  itself  against  oppression,  we 
call  out  in  the  loudest  voice,  "Our  fatherland  is  in  dan- 
ger !"  Because  we  are  sure  that  the  nation  is  able  to  de- 
fend its  hearths  and  homes,  we  announce  the  peril  in  all  its 
magnitude,  and  appeal  to  our  brethren,  in  the  name  of 
God  and  their  country,  to  look  the  danger  boldly  in  the 
face. 

We  will  not  smile  and  flatter.  We  say  it  plainly,  that, 
unless  the  nation  rise,  to  a  man,  prepared  to  shed  the  last 
drop  of  blood,  all  our  previous  struggles  will  have  been  in 
vain.  The  noble  blood  that  has  flowed  like  water,  will 
have  been  wasted.  Our  fatherland  will  be  crushed  to  the 
earth.  On  the  soil,  where  rest  the  ashes  of  our  ancestors, 
the  Russian  knout  will  be  wielded  over  a  people  reduced 
beneath  the  yoke  of  slavery. 

If  we  wish  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  danger,  we  shall 
thereby  save  no  one  from  its  power.  If  we  represent  the 
matter  as  it  is,  we  make  our  country  master  of  its  own 
fate.  If  the  breath  of  life  is  in  our  people,  they  will  save 
themselves  and  their  fatherland.  But,  if  paralyzed  by 
coward  fear,  they  remain  supine,  all  will  be  lost.  God  will 
help  no  man  who  does  not  help  himself.  We  tell  you  that 
the  Austrian  Emperor  sends  the  hordes  of  Russian  barba- 
rians for  your  destruction. 

People  of  Hungary !  Would  you  die  under  the  destroy- 
ing sword  of  the  barbarous  Russians?  If  not,  defend 
your  own  lives  !  Would  you  see  the  Cossacks  of  the  dis- 
tant north  trampling  under  foot  the  dishonored  bodies  of 
your  fathers,  your  wives,  and  your  children?  If  not,  de- 
fend yourselves  !  Do  you  wish  that  your  fellow-country- 
men should  be  dragged  away  to  Siberia,  or  should  fight  for 
tyrants  in  a  foreign  land,  or  writhe  in  slavery  beneath  a 
Russian  scourge  ?  If  not,  defend  yourselves  !  Would  you 
see  your  villages  in  flames,  and  your  harvest-fields  in  ruins? 
Would  you  die  of  hunger  on  the  soil  which  you  have  cul- 
tivated with  sweat  and  blood  ?  If  not,  defend  your- 
selves ! 

This  strife  is  not  a  strife  between  two  hostile  camps,  but 


350  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

a  war  of  tyranny  against  freedom,  of  barbarians  against 
the  collective  might  of  a  free  nation.  Therefore  must  the 
whole  people  arise  with  the  army.  If  these  millions  sus- 
tain our  army,  we  have  gained  freedom  and  victory  for 
universal  Europe,  as  well  as  for  ourselves.  Therefore,  0 
strong,  gigantic  people,  unite  with  the  army,  and  rush  to 
the  conflict.  Ho  !  every  freeman  !  To  arms  !  To  arms  ! 
Thus  alone  is  victory  certain.  FROM  KOSSUTH. 


CCIIL— HUNGARY. 

WE  have  all  had  our  sympathies  much  enlisted  in  the 
Hungarian  effort  for  liberty.  We  have  all  wept  at  its  fail- 
ure. We  thought  we  saw  a  more  rational  hope  of  estab- 
lishing independence  in  Hungary,  than  in  any  other  part 
of  Europe,  where  the  question  has  been  in  agitation,  within 
the  last  twelve  months.  But  despotic  power  from  abroad 
intervened  to  suppress  it. 

What  will  come  of  it,  I  do  not  know.  For  my  part,  I 
feel  more  indignant  at  recent  events  connected  with  Hun- 
gary, than  at  all  those  which  passed  in  her  struggle  for 
liberty.  I  see  that  the  Emperor  of  Russia  demands  of 
Turkey  that  the  noble  Kossuth  and  his  companions  shall 
be  given  up.  And  I  see  that  this  demand  is  made  in 
derision  of  the  established  law  of  nations.  There  is  some- 
thing on  earth  greater  than  arbitrary  or  despotic  power. 
The  lightning  has  its  power,  and  the  whirlwind  has  its 
power,  and  the  earthquake  has  its  power.  But  there  is 
something  among  men  more  capable  of  shaking  despotic 
power,  than  lightning,  whirlwind,  or  earthquake  ;  that  is 
the  threatened  indignation  of  the  whole  civilized  world. 

The  Emperor  of  Russia  holds  himself  to  be  bound  by 
the  law  of  nations,  from  the  fact  that  he  treats  with  na- 
tions ;  that  he  forms  alliances.  He  professes,  in  fact,  to 
live  in  a  civilized  age,  and  to  govern  an  enlightened  nation. 
I  say  that,  if  under  these  circumstances,  he  shall  perpe- 
trate so  great  a  violation  of  natural  law,  as  to  seize  these 
Hungarians,  and  to  execute  them,  he  will  stand  as  a  crimi- 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  351 

nal  and  malefactor,  in  the  view  of  the  law.  The  whole 
world  will  be  the  tribunal  to  try  him.  He  must  appear  be- 
fore it,  and  hold  up  his  hand,  and  plead,  and  abide  its 
judgment. 

The  Emperor  of  Eussia  is  the  supreme  lawgiver  in  his 
own  country,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  the  executor  of  it 
also.  But,  thanks  be  to  God,  he  is  not  the  supreme  law- 
giver or  executor  of  the  national  law.  Every  offense 
against  that,  is  an  offense  against  the  rights  of  the  civil- 
ized world.  If  he  breaks  that  law,  in  the  case  of  Turkey, 
or  in  any  other  case,  the  whole  world  has  a  right  to  call 
him  out,  and  to  demand  his  punishment. 

The  bones  of  poor  John  Wickliffe,  were  dug  out  of  his 
grave,  seventy  years  after  his  death,  and  burned,  for  his 
heresy.  His  ashes  were  thrown  upon  a  river  in  Warwick- 
shire. Some  prophet  of  that  day  said  : 

"The  Avon  to  the  Severn  runs,  the  Severn  to  the  sea; 
And  Wickliffe's  dust  shall  spread  abroad,  wide  as  the  waters  be." 

If  the  blood  of  Kossuth  is  taken  by  an  absolute,  un- 
qualified, unjustifiable  violation  of  national  law,  what  will 
it  appease?  What  will  it  pacify?  It  will  mingle  with  the 
earth.  It  will  mix  with  the  waters  of  the  ocean.  The 
whole  civilized  world  will  snuff  it  in  the  air ;  and  it  will 
return,  with  awful  retribution,  on  the  heads  of  those  vio- 
lators of  national  law  and  universal  justice.  I  can  not 
say  when,  or  in  what  form.  But  depend  upon  it,  that,  if 
such  an  act  take  place,  the  thrones  and  principalities  and 
powers  must  look  for  the  consequences. 

And  now,  let  us  do  our  part.  Let  us  understand  the 
position  in  which  we  stand,  as  the  great  republic  of  the 
world,  at  the  most  interesting  era  of  the  world.  Let  us 
consider  the  mission  and  the  destiny  which  Providence 
seems  to  have  designed  us  for.  Let  us  so  take  care  of  our 
own  conduct,  that,  with  irreproachable  hands,  and  with 
hearts  void  of  offense,  we  may  stand  up,  whenever  and 
wherever  called  upon,  and  with  a  voice  not  to  be  disre- 
garded, say,  This  shall  not  be  done.  FROM  WEBSTER. 


352  MCGUFFEY'$   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCIV.— FATE  OF  GOLDAU. 

O,  SWITZERLAND!  my  country!  'tis  to  thee 
I  strike  my  harp  in  agony: 
My  country;  nurse  of  Liberty, 
Home  of  the  gallant,  great,  'and  free, 
My  sullen  harp  I  strike  to  thee. 
Oh !  I  have  lost  you  all ! 

Parents,  and  home,  and  friends : 
Ye  sleep  beneath  a  mountain  pall, 

A  mountain's  plumage  o'er  you  bends. 
The  cliff-yew  of  funereal  gloom, 
Is  now  the  only  mourning  plume 
That  nods  above  a  people's  tomb. 

No  chariots  of  fire  on  the  clouds  careered; 

No  warrior's  arm  on  the  hills  was  reared; 
No  death-angel's  trump  o'er  the  ocean  was  blown; 
No  mantle  of  wrath  over  heaven  was  thrown; 
No  armies  of  light  with  their  banners  of  flame, 
On  neighing  steeds,  through  the  sunset  came, 
Or  leaping  from  space  appeared. 

No  earthquake  reeled;  no  Thunderer  stormed; 
No  fetterless  dead  o'er  the  bright  sky  swarmed; 

No  voices  in  heaven  were  heard; 
But  the  hour  when  the  sun  in  his  pride  went  down, 

While  his  parting  hung  rich  o'er  the  world, 
While  abroad  o'er  the  sky  his  flushed  mantle  was  blown, 
And  his  streamers  of  gold  were  unfurled, 
An  everlasting  hill  was  torn 
From  its  primeval  base,  and  borne, 
In  gold  and  crimson  vapors  dressed, 
To  where  a  people  arc  at  rest 

Slowly  it  came  in  its  mountain  wrath; 

And  the  forests  vanished  before  its  path; 

And  the  rude  cliffs  bowed;  and  the  waters  fled; 

And  the  living  were  buried,  while,  over  their  head, 

They  heard  the  full  march  of  their  foe  as  he  sped ; 

And  the  valley  of  life  was  the  tomb  of  the  dead, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  353 

The  mountain  sepulcher  of  all  I  loved ! 
The  village  sank;  and  the  giant  trees 
Leaned  back  from  the  encountering  breeze, 
As  this  tremendous  pageant  moved. 

The  mountain  forsook  his  eternal  throne, 

And  came  down  in  his  pomp ;  and  his  path  is  shown 

In  barrenness  and  ruin :  there 

His  ancient  mysteries  lie  bare; 

His  rocks  in  nakedness  arise; 

His  desolations  mock  the  skies. 

Sweet  vale,  Goldau,  farewell! 

An  Alpine  monument  may  dwell 

Upon  thy  bosom,  O,  my  home ! 

The  mountain,  thy  pall  and  thy  prison,  may  keep  thee; 
I  shall  see  thee  no  more;  but  till  death  I  will  weep  thee; 
Of  thy  blue  dwelling  dream,  wherever  I  roam, 
And  wish  myself  wrapped  in  its  peaceful  foam. 

FROM  NEAL. 


CCV.— THE  VULTURE. 

I'VE  been  among  the  mighty  Alps,  and  wandered  through  their 

vales, 

And  heard  the  honest  mountaineers  relate  their  dismal  tales, 
As  round  the  cottage  blazing  hearth,  when  their  daily  work  was 

o'er,  [more. 

They  spake  of  those  who  disappeared,  and  ne'er  were  heard  of 

And  there  I  from  a  shepherd  heard  a  narrative  of  fear, 
A  tale  to  rend  a  mortal  heart,  which  mothers  might  not  hear : 
The  tears  "were  standing  in  his  eyes,  his  voice  was  tremulous, 
But,  wiping  all  those  tears  away,  he  told  his  story  thus. 

"  It  is  among  these  barren  cliffs  the  ravenous  vulture  dwells, 
Who  never  fattens  on  the  prey  which  from  afar  he  smells; 
But,  patient,  watching  hour  on  hour  upon  a  lofty  rock, 
He  singles  out  some  truant  lamb,  a  victim,  from  the  flock. 

"One  cloudless  sabbath  summer  morn,  the  sun  was  rising  high, 
When,  from  my  children  on  the  green,  I  heard  a  fearful  cry, 
As  if  some  awful  deed  were  done,  a  shriek  of  grief  and  pain, 
A  cry,  I  humbly  trust  in  God,  I  ne'er  may  hear  again. 
NEW  EC.  8.— 30 


354  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

"I  hurried  out  to  learn  the  cause;  but,  overwhelmed  with  fright, 
The  children  never  ceased  to  shriek,  and  from  my  frenzied  sight 
I  missed  the  youngest  of  my  babes,  the  darling  of  my  care ; 
But  something  caught  my  searching  eyes,  slow  sailing  through 
the  air. 

"Oh!  what  an  awful  spectacle  to  meet  a  father's  eye! 
His  infant  made  a  vulture's  prey,  with  terror  to  descry  ! 
And  know,  with  agonizing  breast,  and  with  a  maniac  rave, 
That  earthly  power  could  not  avail,  that  innocent  to  save ! 

"My  infant  stretched  his  little  hands  imploringly  to  me, 
And  struggled  with  the  ravenous  bird,  all  vainly,  to  get  free, 
At  intervals  I  heard  his  cries,  as  loud  he  shrieked  and  screamed: 
Until,  upon  the  azure  sky,  a  lessening  spot  he  seemed. 

"The  vulture  flapped  his  sail-like  wings,  though  heavily  he  flew, 
A  mote  upon  the  sun's  broad  face  he  seemed  unto  my  view; 
But  once  I  thought  I  saw  him  stoop,  as  if  he  would  alight, 
Twas  only  a  delusive  thought,  for  all  had  vanished  quite. 

"All  search  was  vain,  and   years  had  passed;   that  child  was 

ne'er  forgot, 

When  once  a  daring  hunter  climbed  unto  a  lofty  spot. 
From  whence,  upon  a  rugged  crag  the  chamois  never  reached, 
He  saw  an  infant's  fleshless  bones  the  elements  had  bleached! 

"I  clambered  up  that  rugged  cliff;  I  could  not  stay  away; 
I  knew  they  were  my  infant's  bones  thus  hastening  to  decay, 
A  tattered  garment  yet  remained,  though  torn  to  many  a  shredv 
The  crimson  cap  he  wore  that  morn  was  still  upon  the  head." 

That  dreary  spot  is  pointed  out  to  travelers  passing  by, 
Who  often  stand,  and,  musing,  gaze,  nor  go  without  a  sigh: 
And  as  I  journeyed,  the  next  morn,  along  my  sunny*  way, 
The  precipice  was  shown  to  me,  whereon  the  infant  lay. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  355 


CCVL— A  RIDE  FROM  GHENT  TO  AIX. 

IT  will  be  perceived,  that  in  the  following  is  described  a  forced 
ride  of  three  post-riders,  carrying  information  to  Aix  necessary  to 
save  the  city. 

GHENT  ;  pro.  gent,  with  the  g  hard.  Aix ;  pro.  akes,  in  one  syllable. 
(See  Webster.) 

LOKEREN  ;  pro.  Lok-e'-ren. 

I  SPRANG  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  he; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three ; 

"Good  speed!"  cried  the  watch,  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew; 

"Speed!"  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through; 

Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest, 

And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other;  we  kept  the  great  pace,. 
Neck  by  neck,  stride  for  stride,  never  changing  our  place; 
I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup,  and  set  the  pique  right, 
Rebuckled  the  check-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit, 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland,  a  whit. 

'Twas  moonset  at  starting;  but  while  we  drew  near 

Lockeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear; 

At  Boom,  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see ; 

At  Duffeld,  't  was  morning  as  plain  as  could  be ; 

And  from  Mechlin  church-steeple  we  heard  the  half-chime, 

So  Joris  broke  silence  with,  "  Yet  there  is  time  !" 

At  Aerschot,  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  the  cattle  stood,  black,  every  one, 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past, 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland,  at  last, 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland  its  spray. 

And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear  bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track ; 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence,  ever  that  glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master,  askance ! 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes  which  aye  and  anon 
His  fierce  lip  shook  upward  in  galloping  on. 


356  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

By  Hasselt,  Dirck  groaned ;  and  cried  Joris,  "  Stay  spur  ! 
Your  Roos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault's  not  in  her, 
We'll  remember  at  Aix" — for  one  heard  the  quick  wheezo 
Of  her  chest;  saw  the  stretched  neck  and  staggering  knees, 
And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank, 
As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 

Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  the  sky; 

The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh, 

'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle,  bright  stubble  like  chaff; 

Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white, 

And  "Gallop,"  gasped  Joris,  "for  Aix  is  in  sight!" 

"How  they'll  greet  us!"  and  all  in  a  moment  his  roan 
Eolled  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a  stone; 
And  there  was  my  Roland  to  bear  the  whole  weight 
Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from  her  fate, 
With  =his  nostrils  like  pits,  full  of  blood  to  the  brim, 
And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets'  rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buffcoat,  each  holster  let  fall, 

Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and  all, 

Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted  his  ear, 

Called  my  Roland  his  pet  name,  my  horse  without  peer; 

Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sang,  any  noise,  bad  or  good, 

Till  at  length  into  Aix,  Roland  galloped  and  stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is,  friends  flocking  round, 
As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on  the  ground, 
And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland  of  mine, 
As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  measure  of  wine, 
Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  consent) 
Was  no  more   than   his   due  who  brought  good  news  from 
Ghent. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  357 


CCVIL—  THE  WIFE.— No.  I. 

THIS  and  the  two  succeeding  dialogues  may  be  spoken  together; 
or  this  may  be  spoken  alone,  and  the  other  two  together. 

(Enter  Mrs.  Malaprop,  Sir  Anthony  Absolute,  and  Lydia.) 

Mrs.  Malaprop.  THIS,  Sir  Anthony,  is  my  niece,  the 
deliberate  simpleton,  who  wants  to  disgrace  her  family,  and 
lavish  herself  on  a  fellow  not  worth  a  shilling. 

Lydia.      Madam,  I  thought  you  once — 

Mrs.  M.  You  thought,  miss!  I  don't  know  any  busi- 
ness you  have  to  think  at  all.  Thought  does  not  become 
a  young  woman.  But  the  point  we  would  request  of  you 
is,  that  you  would  promise  to  forget  this  fellow ;  to  illite- 
rate him,  I  say,  from  your  memory. 

Lyd.  Ah !  madam !  our  memories  are  independent  of 
our  wills.  It  is  not  so  easy  to  forget. 

Mrs.  M.  But  I  say  it  is,  miss !  There  is  nothing  on 
earth  so  easy  as  to  forget,  if  a  person  chooses  to  set  about 
it.  I  'm  sure  I  have  as  much  forgot  your  poor,  dear  uncle, 
as  if  he  had  never  existed;  and  I  thought  it  my  duty  so 
to  do.  And  let  me  tell  you,  Lydia,  these  violent  memories 
don't  become  a  young  woman. 

Lyd.  What  crime,  madam,  have  I  committed,  to  be 
treated  thus  ? 

Mrs.  M.  Now  don't  attempt  to  externate  yourself  from 
the  matter.  You  know  I  have  proof  controvertible  of  it. 
But,  tell  me,  will  you  promise  me  to  do  as  you're  bid? 
Will  you  take  a  husband  of  your  friend's  choosing? 

Lyd.  Madam,  I  must  tell  you  plainly,  that,  had  I  no 
preference  for  any  one  else,  the  choice  you  have  made 
Would  be  my  aversion. 

Mrs.  M.  What  business  have  you,  miss,  with  preference 
ind  aversion?  They  don't  become  a  young  woman.  And 
you  ought  to  know,  that,  as  both  always  wear  off,  'tis 
safest,  in  matrimony,  to  begin  with  a  little  aversion.  I  am 
sure  I  hated  your  poor,  dear  uncle,  before  marriage,  as  if 
he'd  been  a  black-amoor,  and  yet  miss,  you  are  sensible 
what  a  wife  I  made.  And,  when  it  pleased  heaven  to  re- 


358  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

lease  me  from  him,  'tis  unknown  what  tears  I  shed!  But, 
suppose  we  were  going  to  give  you  another  choice,  will  you 
promise  us  to  give  up  this  Beverley? 

Lyd.  Could  I  belie  my  thoughts  so  far  as  to  give  that 
promise,  my  actions  would  certainly  as  far  belie  my  words. 

Mrs.  M.  Take  yourself  to  your  room.  You  are  fit 
company  for  nothing  but  your  own  ill  humors. 

Lyd.  Willingly,  ma'am.  I  can  not  change  for  the 
worse.  (Exit.) 

Mrs.  M.     There 's  a  little  intricate  hussy  for  you ! 

Sir  Anthony.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  ma'am.  All 
that  is  the  natural  consequence  of  teaching  girls  to  read. 
In  my  way  hither,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  observed  your  niece's 
maid  coming  forth  from  a  circulating  library.  She  had  a 
book  in  each  hand.  From  that  moment,  I  guessed  how 
full  of  duty  I  should  see  her  mistress. 

Mrs.  M.    Those  are  vile  places,  indeed  ! 

Sir  A.  Madam,  a  circulating  library  in  a  town,  is  as 
an  evergreen  tree  of  diabolical  knowledge !  It  blossoms 
through  the  year !  And,  depend  upon  it,  Mrs.  Malaprop, 
that  they  who  are  so  fond  of  handling  the  leaves,  will  long 
for  the  fruit  at  last. 

Mrs.  M.  Fie,  fie,  Sir  Anthony  ;  you  surely  speak  laconi- 
cally. 

Sir  A.  Why,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  in  moderation,  now,  what 
would  you  have  a  woman  know  ? 

Mrs.  M.  Observe  me,  Sir  Anthony;  I  would  by  no 
means  wish  a  daughter  of  mine  to  be  a  progeny  of  learn- 
ing. I  don't  think  so  much  learning  becomes  a  young 
woman.  For  instance,  I  would  never  let  her  meddle  with 
Greek,  or  Hebrew,  or  Algebra,  or  Simony,  or  Fluxions,  or 
Paradoxes,  or  such  inflammatory  branches  of  learning,  nor 
will  it  be  necessary  for  her  to  handle  any  of  your  mathe- 
matical, astronomical,  diabolical  instruments.  But,  Sir 
Anthony,  I  would  send  her,  at  nine  years  old,  to  a  board- 
ing school,  in  order  to  learn  a  little  ingenuity  and  artifice. 
Then,  sir,  she  should  have  a  supercilious  knowledge  in  ac- 
counts. As  she  grew  up,  I  would  have  her  instructed  in 
ireometry,  -that  she  might  know  something  of  the  conta- 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  359 

gious  countries.  Above  all,  she  should  be  taught  orthodoxy. 
This,  Sir  Anthony,  is  what  I  would  have  a  woman  know ; 
and  I  don't  think  there  is  a  superstitious  article  in  it. 

Sir  A.  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  will  dispute  the 
point  no  further  with  you,  though  I  must  confess,  that  you 
are  a  truly  moderate  and  polite  arguer,  for  almost  every 
third  word  you  say,  is  on  my  side  of  the  question.  But, 
to  the  more  important  point  in  debate.  You  say  you  have 
no  objection  to  my  proposal? 

Mrs.  M.  None,  I  assure  you.  I  am  under  no  positive 
engagement  with  Mr.  Acres.  And  as  Lydia  is  so  obstinate 
against  him,  perhaps  your  son  may  have  better  success. 

Sir  A.  Well,  madam,  I  will  write  for  the  boy  directly. 
He  knows  not  a  syllable  of  this  yet,  though  I  have  for 
some  time  had  the  proposal  in  my  head.  He  is  at  present 
with  his  regiment. 

Mrs.  M.  We  have  never  seen  your  son,  Sir  Anthony. 
But  I  hope  no  objection  on  his  side. 

Sir  A.  Objection  !  Let  him  object  if  he  dare  !  No, 
no,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  Jack  knows  that  the  least  demur  puts 
me  in  a  frenzy  directly.  My  process  was  always  very  sim- 
ple. In  his  younger  days,  'twas,  "Jack,  do  this."  If  he 
demurred,  I  knocked  him  down;  and,  if  he  grumbled  at 
that,  I  always  sent  him  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  M.  Ay,  and  the  properest  way.  Nothing  is  so 
conciliating  to  young  people,  as  severity.  Well,  Sir  An- 
thony, I  shall  give  Mr.  Acres  his  discharge,  and  prepare 
Lydia  to  receive  your  son's  invocations,  and  I  hope  you 
will  represent  her  to  the  captain  as  an  object  not  alto- 
gether illegible. 

Sir  A.  Madam,  I  will  handle  the  subject  prudently. 
I  must  leave  you ;  and,  let  me  beg  you,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  to 
enforce  this  matter  roundly  to  the  girl.  Take  my  advice, 
keep  a  tight  hand.  If  she  rejects  this  proposal,  clap  her 
under  lock  and  key ;  and,  if  you  were  just  to  let  the  ser- 
vants forget  to  bring  her  dinner  for  three  or  four  days, 
you  can't  conceive  how  she'd  come  about.  (Exeunt.") 

FROM  SHERIDAN. 


360  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 


CCVIII.— THE  WIFE.— No.  II. 

THIS  and  the  following  should  be  spoken  in  connection. 

(Enter  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  and  his  son  Capt.  Absolute.) 

Ca.pt.  Absolute.  SIR  ANTHONY,  I  am  delighted  to  see 
you  here,  and  looking  so  well !  your  sudden  arrival  at  Bath 
made  me  apprehensive  for  your  health. 

Sir  Anthony.  Very  apprehensive,  I  dare  say,  Jack. 
What,  you  are  recruiting  here,  hey? 

Capt.  A.  Yes,  sir.     I  am  on  duty. 

Sir  A.  Well,  Jack,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though  I 
did  not  expect  it !  for  I  was  going  to  write  to  you  on  a 
little  matter  of  business.  Jack,  I  have  been  considering 
that  I  grow  old  and  infirm,  and  shall  probably  not  trouble 
you  long. 

Capt.  A.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  never  saw  you  look  more 
strong  and  hearty,  and  I  pray  fervently  that  you  may  con- 
tinue so. 

Sir  A.  I  hope  your  prayers  may  be  heard,  with  all  my 
heart.  Well  then,  Jack,  I  have  been  considering  that  I  am 
so  strong  and  hearty,  I  may  continue  to  plague  you  a  long 
time.  Now,  Jack,  I  am  sensible  that  the  income  of  your 
commission,  and  what  I  have  hitherto  allowed  you,  is  but 
a  small  pittance  for  a  lad  of  your  spirit. 

Qapt.  A.  Sir,  you  are  very  good. 

.  Sir  A.  And  it  is  my  wish,  while  I  yet  live,  to  have 
my  boy  make  some  figure  in  the  world.  I  have  resolved, 
therefore,  to  fix  you  at  once  in  a  noble  independence. 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  your  kindness  overpowers  me.  Yet,  sir,  I 
presume  you  would  not  wish  me  to  quit  the  army  ? 

Sir  A.      Oh !  that  shall  be  as  your  wife  chooses. 

Capt.  A.  My  wife,  sir? 

Sir  A.  Ay,  ay,  settle  that  between  you ;  settle  that 
between  you. 

Capt.  A.  A  wife,  sir,  did  you  say? 

Sir  A.  Ay,  a  wife :  why,  did  not  I  mention  that  be- 
fore? 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  361 

Capt.  A.  Not  a  word  of  her,  sir. 

Sir  A.  Odd  so ;  I  nmsn't  forget  her,  though.  Yes, 
Jack,  the  independence  I  was  talking  of,  is  by  a  marriage. 
The  fortune  is  saddled  with  a  wife.  But  I  suppose  that 
makes  no  difference  ! 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  sir  !  you  amaze  me  ! 

Sir  A.  Why,  what— what 's  the  matter  with  the  fool? 
Just  now  you  were  all  gratitude  and  duty. 

Capt.  A.  I  was,  sir.  You  talked  to  me  of  independence 
and  a  fortune,  but  not  a  word  of  a  wife. 

Sir  A.  Why,  what  difference  does  that  make  ?  Odds 
life,  sir  !  if  you  have  the  estate,  you  must  take  it  with  the 
live  stock  on  it,  as  it  stands. 

Capt.  A.  Pray,  sir,  who  is  the  lady? 

Sir  A.  What's  that  to  you,  sir?  Come,  give  me  your 
promise  to  love  and  to  marry  her  directly. 

Capt.  A.  Sure,  sir,  that  is  not  very  reasonable,  to  sum- 
mon my  affections  for  a  lady  I  know  nothing  of. 

Sir  A.  I  am  sure,  sir,  'tis  more  unreasonable  in  you 
to  object  to  a  lady  you  know  nothing  of. 

Capt.  A.  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  tell  you,  once 
for  all,  that  in  this  point  I  can  not  obey  you. 

Sir  A.  Hark  ye,  Jack  :  I  have  heard  you  for  some 
time  with  patience;  I  have  been  cool;  quite  cool;  but  take 
care ;  you  know  I  am  compliance  itself,  when  I  am  not 
thwarted ;  no  one  more  easily  led,  when  I  have  my  own 
way  ;  but  Jo  n't  put  me  in  a  frenzy. 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  I  must  repeat  it;  in  this  I  can  not  obey 
you., 

Sir  A.  Now,  hang  me,  if  ever  I  call  you  Jack  again 
while  I  live. 

Ca/pt.  A.  Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me. 

Sir  A.  Sir,  I  won't  hear  a  word,  not  a  word  !  not  one 
word!  So  give  me  your  promise  by  a  nod,  and  I'll  tell 
you  what,  Jack, — I  mean,  you  dog — if  you  don't — 

Capt.  A.  What,  sir,  promise  to  link  myself  to  some  mass 
of  ugliness ! 

Sir  A.  Zounds !  sirrah  !  the  lady  shall  be  as  ugly  as  I 
choose  :  she  shall  have  a  hump  on  each  shoulder ;  she  shall 
NEW  EC.  S.— 31 


362  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

be  as  crooked  as  the  crescent ;  her  one  eye  shall  roll  like 
the  bull's  in  Cox's  museum ;  she  shall  have  a  skin  like  a 
mummy,  and  the  beard  of  a  Jew.  She  shall  be  all  this, 
sirrah !  yet  I  '11  make  you  ogle  her  all  day,  and  sit  up  all 
night,  to  write  sonnets  on  her  beauty. 

Capt.  A.  This  is  reason  and  moderation,  indeed! 

Sir  A.  None  of  your  sneering,  puppy!  No  grinninjr, 
jackanapes ! 

Capt.  A.  Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor  for 
mirth,  in  my  life. 

Sir  A.  'Tis  false,  sir.  I  know  you  are  laughing  in 
your  sleeve.  I  know  you'll  grin  when  I  am  gone,  sirrah! 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  I  hope  I  know  my  duty  better. 

Sir  A.  None  of  your  passion,  sir!  None  of  your  vio- 
lence, if  you  please  !  It  won't  do  with  me,  I  promise  you. 

Capt.  A.  Indeed,  sir,  I  was  never  cooler  in  my  life. 

Sir  A.  'Tis  a  confounded  lie!  I  know  you  are  in  a 
passion  in  your  heart;  I  know  you  are,  you  hypocritical 
young  dog;  but  it  won't  do. 

Capt.  A.  Nay,  sir,  upon  my  word — 

Sir  A.  So  you  will  fly  out!  can't  you  be  cool,  like  me? 
What  good  can  passion  do  ?  Passion  is  of  no  service,  you 
impudent,  insolent,  overbearing  reprobate !  There,  you 
sneer  again!  don't  provoke  me!  but  you  rely  upon  the 
mildness  of  my  temper,  you  do,  you  dog;  you  play  upon 
the  meekness  of  my  disposition !  yet  take  care ;  the  patience 
of  a  saint  may  be  overcome  at  last !  But  mark !  I  give 
you  six  hours  and  a  half  to  consider  this.  If  you  then 
agree,  without  any  condition,  to  do  every  thing  on  earth 
that  I  choose,  why — confound  you  !  I  may  in  time  forgive 
you, — if  not,  don't  enter  the  same  hemisphere  with  me; 
don't  dare  to  breathe  the  same  air,  or  use  the  same  light 
with  me;  but  get  an  atmosphere  and  a  sun  of  your  own! 
I'll  strip  you  of  your  commission;  I'll  lodge  a  five-and- 
three-pence  in  the  hands  of  trustees,  and  you  shall  live  on 
the  interest.  I  '11  disown  you,  I  '11  disinherit  you,  and 
hang  me  !  if  I  call  you  Jack  again ! 

Capt.  A.  Mild,  gentle,  considerate  father !  I  kiss  your 
hands.  (Exeunt.) 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  363 

CCIX.— THE  WIFE.— No.  III. 

(Enter  Capt.  Absolute.) 

Capt.  Absolute.  'Tis  just  as  Fag  told  me,  indeed! 
Whimsical  enough,  faith  !  My  father  wants  to  force  me  to 
marry  the  very  girl  I  am  plotting  to  run  away  with  !  He 
must  not  know  of  my  connection  with  her  yet  awhile.  He 
has  too  summary  a  method  of  proceeding  in  these  matters. 
However,  I'll  read  my  recantation  instantly.  My  conver- 
sion is  something  sudden,  indeed  ;  but,  I  can  assure  him, 
it  is  very  sincere.  So,  so,  here  he  comes.  He  looks  plaguy 
gruff.  (Steps  aside.) 

(Enter  Sir  Anthony.) 

Sir  A.  No !  I  '11  die  sooner  than  forgive  him  ?  Die, 
did  I  say  I  I  '11  live  these  fifty  years  to  plague  him.  At 
our  last  meeting,  his  impudence  had  almost  put  me  out  of 
temper ;  an  obstinate,  passionate,  self-willed  boy !  Who 
can  he  take  after?  This  is  his  return  for  all  my  goodness! 
for  putting  him  at  twelve  years  old  into  a  marching  regi- 
ment, and  allowing  him  fifty  pounds  a  year,  besides  his  pay, 
ever  since !  But  I  have  done  with  him,  he's  any  body's  son 
for  me — I  never  will  see  him  more — never — never — never 
: — never. 

Capt.  A.  Now  for  a  penitential  face  !     (Comes  forward) 

Sir  A.      Fellow,  get  out  of  my  way! 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  you  see  a  penitent  before  you. 

Sir  A.       I  see  an  impudent  scoundrel  before  me. 

Capt.  A.  A  sincere  penitent.  I  am  come,  sir,  to  ac- 
knowledge my  error,  and  to  submit  entirely  to  your  will. 

Sir  A.      What's  that? 

Capt.  A.  I  have  been  revolving,  and  reflecting,  and  con- 
sidering on  your  past  goodness,  and  kindness,  and  conde- 
scension to  me. 

Sir  A.      Well,  sir  ! 

Capt.  A.  I  have  been  likewise  weighing  and  balancing 
what  you  were  pleased  to  mention,  concerning  duty,  and 
obedience,  and  authority. 

Sir  A.      Why,  now  you  talk  sense,  absolute  sense!     I 


364  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

never  heard  any  thing  more  sensible  in  my  life.  Confound 
you!  you  shall  be  Jack  again. 

Capt.  A.  I  am  happy,  sir,  in  the  appellation. 

Sir  A.  Why  then,  Jack,  my  dear  Jack,  I  will  now  in- 
form you  who  the  lady  really  is.  Nothing  but  your  pas- 
sion and  violence,  you  silly  fellow,  prevented  me  telling 
you  at  first.  Prepare,  Jack,  for  wonder  and  rapture ;  pre- 
pare. What  think  you  of  Miss  Lydia  Languish? 

Capt.  A.  Languish  ?  What,  the  Languishes  of  Worces- 
tershire ? 

Sir  A.  Worcestershire  !  No.  Did  you  never  meet  Mrs. 
Malaprop.  and  her  niece,  Miss  Languish,  who  came  into  our 
county  just  before  you  were  last  ordered  to  your  regiment? 

Capt.  A.  Malaprop  !  Languish  !  Let  me  see  !  I  think 
I  do  recollect  something !  Languish !  Languish !  she 
squints,  don't  she?  A  little  red  haired  girl? 

Sir  A.      Squints  !     A  red  haired  girl !     Zounds  !  no  ! 

Capt.  A.  Then  1  must  have  forgot.  It  can't  be  the  same 
person. 

Sir  A.  Jack  !  Jack  !  What  think  you  of  blooming, 
love-breathing  seventeen  ? 

Capt.  A.  As  to  that,  sir,  I  am  quite  indifferent.  If  I 
can  please  you  in  the  matter,  I  shall  be  happy. 

Sir  A.  Nay,  but,  Jack,  such  eyes !  such  eyes  !  so  in? 
nocently  wild  !  so  bashfully  irresolute  !  Then,  Jack,  her 
cheeks  !  her  cheeks  !  Jack  !  so  deeply  blushing  at  the  in- 
sinuations of  her  tell-tale  eyes!  Then,  Jack,  her  lips  !  0, 
Jack,  lips,  smiling  at  their  own  discretion  ! 

Capt.  A.  And  which  is  to  be  mine,  sir,  the  niece  or  the 
aunt? 

Sir  A.  Why,  you  unfeeling,  insensible  puppy,  I  despise 
you.  The  aunt,  indeed !  Odds  life !  when  I  ran  away 
with  your  mother,  I  would  not  have  touched  any  thing  old 
or  ugly  to  gain  an  empire. 

Capt.  A.   Not  to  please  your  father,  sir  ? 

Sir  A.  To  please  my  father?  not  to  please — oh,  my 
father — odd  so  ! — yes,  yes,  if  my  father,  indeed,  had  de- 
sired— that's  quite  another  matter — though  he  wasn't  the 
indulgent  father  that  I  am,  Jack. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  365 

Capt.  A.   I  dare  say  not,  sir. 

Sir  A.  But,  Jack,  you  are  not  sorry  to  find  your  mis- 
tress so  beautiful? 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  I  repeat  it,  if  I  please  you  in  this  affair,  I 
shall  be  happy.  Not  that  I  think  a  woman  the  worse  for 
being  handsome.  But,  sir,  if  you  please  to  recollect,  you 
before  hinted  something  about  a  hump  or  two,  one  eye, 
and  a  few  more  graces  of  that  kind.  Now,  without  being 
very  nice,  I  own  I  should  rather  choose  a  wife  of  mine  to 
have  the  usual  number  of  limbs,  and  a  limited  quantity  of 
back;  and,  though  one  eye  may  be  very  agreeable,  yet  as 
the  prejudice  has  always  run  in  favor  of  two,  I  would  not 
wish  to  affect  a  singularity  in  that  article. 

Sir  A.  What  a  phlegmatic  sot  it  is  !  Why,  sirrah,  you 
are  an  anchorite  !  A  vile,  insensible  stock  !  You  a  soldier? 
you  're  a  walking  block,  fit  only  to  dust  the  company's 
regimentals  on  !  Odds  life,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  marry 
the  girl  myself! 

Capt.  A.  I  am  entirely  at  your  disposal.  If  you  should 
think  of  addressing  Miss  Languish  yourself,  I  suppose  you 
would  have  me  marry  the  aunt;  or,  if  you  should  change 
your  mind,  and  take  the  old  lady,  'tis  the  same  to  me,  I'll 
marry  the  niece. 

Sir  A.  Upon  my  word,  Jack,  thou  art  either  a  very 
great  hypocrite,  or — but,  come,  I  know  your  indifference 
on  such  a  subject  must  be  all  fudge — I'm  sure  it  must — 
come,  now,  come,  Jack,  confess  you've  been  playing  the 
hypocrite.  I'll  never  forgive  you,  if  you  have  not. 

Capt.  A.  I'm  sorry,  sir,  that  the  respect  and  duty  which 
I  bear  to  you,  should  be  so  mistaken. 

Sir  A.  Hang  your  respect  and  duty  !  But,  come  along 
with  me.  I  will  write  a  note  to  Mrs.  Malaprop,  and  you 
shall  visit  the  lady  directly.  Her  eyes  shall  be  the  Prome- 
thean torch  to  you.  Come  along,  I'll  never  forgive  you, 
if  you  don't  come  back  stark  mad  with  rapture  and  im- 
patience; if  you  don't,  faith,  I'll  marry  the  girl  myself. 
(Exeunt.) 


366  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 


OCX.— BEAUTIES  OF  SACRED  LITERATURE. 

THE  traveler,  who  stands  at  the  well-spring  of  some 
mighty  river,  illustrious  alike  in  the  verse  of  the  poet,  and 
the  roll  of  the  historian,  looks  in  imagination,  down  its 
"  monarchy  of  waters,"  to  contemplate  all  the  variety  of  its 
fortunes,  amid  the  wilderness  of  nature,  and  the  habita- 
tions of  man.  He  beholds  in  its  course  the  humble  cot- 
tage of  the  peasant,  and  the  splendid  palace  of  opulence 
And  rank. 

He  sees  the  rural  scenery  of  field,  and  orchard,  and 
meadow,  or  the  garden  of  fashion,  glittering  with  its  "wil- 
derness of  lamps;"  the  hamlet  or  the  village,  "when  un- 
adorned, adorned  the  most."  He  marks  the  ancient  city, 
enriched  by  the  treasures  of  every  clime,  embellished  with 
the  creations  of  every  art,  and  glorious  in  its  power,  mag- 
nificence, and  wealth. 

The  astronomer  lifts  his  eye  from  the  narrow  boundary 
of  the  visible  horizon,  and  the  diminutive  forms  which  deco- 
rate the  surface  of  the  earth,  to  the  heavens  above.  He 
gazes  with  the  intelligence  of  philosophy,  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  poetry,  on  the  serenity  of  its  azure  depths,  on  its 
wandering  orbs,  on  the  bickering  flame  of  its  comets,  or  the 
pure  light  of  its  hosts  of  stars. 

His  soul  expands  and  rises  in  its  conceptions  of  the 
grandeur,  wisdom,  benevolence  of  God.  He  worships,  in 
aspirations  of  praise  and  gratitude,  at  the  mercy-seat  of 
the  invisible  Creator.  As  he  contemplates  the  miracles 
of  worlds  innumerable,  and  of  a  boundless  universe,  his 
thoughts  are  exalted  and  purified.  He  is  filled  with  amaze- 
ment, at  the  marvelous  system  of  the  visible  universe,  and 
with  joy  and  gratitude  at  the  eternal  destiny,  and  still  more 
glorious  attributes  of  the  human  soul. 

The  traveler,  when  he  looks  on  the  river,  arrayed  in  the 
sublime,  the  wonderful,  the  fair,  in  the  works  of  nature  and 
of  art,  beholds  the  image  of  classic  literature.  The  astrono- 
mer who  views  the  heavens  with  the  science  which  compre- 
hends, and  the  taste  which  admires,  contemplates  in  that 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  367 

glorious  personification  of  the  unseen  God,  the  sublimity, 
beauty,  and  variety -of  sacred  literature. 

Classic  literature  stands,  like  the  statue  of  Prometheus, 
graceful  in  its  beauty,  majestic  in  its  power.  But  sacred 
literature  is  the  ever-living  fire  that  descends  from  heaven, 
instinct  with  life,  immortal,  universal.  That  is  the  mauso- 
leum of  departed  nations,  splendid  yet  desolate;  and  bear- 
ing an  inscription  written  indeed,  "in  the  kingly  language 
of  the  mighty  dead."  "  This  is  none  other  than  the  house 
of  God.  This  is  the  gate  of  heaven."  Its  record  is  the 
book  of  life,  spotless  and  eternal.  Its  penmen  are  prophets, 
apostles,  and  martyrs.  Its  ministering  servants  are  cheru- 
bim and  seraphim,  the  angel  and  the  archangel. 

FROM  GRIMKE. 


CCXI.— BLESS  THE  LORD. 

BLESS  the  Lord,  0  my  soul;  and  all  that  is  within  me, 
bless  his  holy  name.  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul;  and  for- 
get not  all  his  benefits :  who  forgiveth  all  thine  iniquities : 
who  healeth  all  thy  diseases :  who  redeemeth  thy  life  from 
destruction ;  who  crowneth  thee  with  loving-kindness  and 
tender  mercies:  who  satisfieth  thy  mouth  with  good  things; 
so  that  thy  youth  is  renewed  like  the  eagle's. 

The  Lord  executeth  righteousness  and  judgment  for  all 
that  are  oppressed.  He  made  known  his  ways  unto  Moses, 
his  acts  unto  the  children  of  Israel.  The  Lord  is  merciful 
and  gracious,  slow  to  anger,  and  plenteous  in  mercy.  He 
will  not  always  chide ;  neither  will  he  keep  his  anger  for- 
ever. He  hath  not  dealt  with  us  after  our  sins;  nor  re- 
warded us  according  to  our  iniquities. 

As  the  heaven  is  high  above  the  earth;  so  great  is  his 
mercy  toward  them  that  fear  him.  As  far  as  the  east  is 
from  the  west,  so  far  hath  he  removed  our  transgressions 
from  us.  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  him.  For  he  knoweth  our  frame; 
he  remembereth  that  we  are  dust. 

As  for  man,  his  days  are    as  grass;  as   a  flower  of  the 


368  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

field  so  he  flourisheth :  for  the  wind  passeth  over  it,  and  it 
is  gone;  and  the  place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more.  But 
the  mercy  of  the  Lord  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting 
upon  them  that  fear  him;  and  his  righteousness  unto 
children's  children ;  to  such  as  keep  his  covenant,  and  to 
those  that  remember  his  commandments  to  do  them. 

The  Lord  hath  prepared  his  throne  in  the  heavens;  and 
his  kingdom  ruleth  over  all.  Bless  the  Lord,  ye  his  angels, 
that  excel  in  strength,  that  do  his  commandments,  hearken- 
ing unto  the  voice  of  his  word.  Bless  ye  the  Lord,  all  ye 
his  hosts;  ye  ministers  of  his  that  do  his  pleasure.  Bless 
the  Lord,  all  his  works,  in  all  places  of  his  dominion:  bless 
the  Lord,  0  my  soul.  FROM  THE  BIBLE. 


CCXIL— CONDITION  OF  THE  WICKED. 

KNOWEST  thou  not  this  of  old,  since  man  was  placed 
upon  the  earth,  that  the  triumphing  of  the  wicked  is  short, 
and  the  joy  of  the  hypocrite  but  for  a  moment?  Though 
his  excellency  mount  up  to  the  heavens,  and  his  head  reach 
the  clouds,  yet  he  shall  perish  forever.  He  shall  fly  away 
as  a  dream,  and  shall  not  be  found;  yea,  he  shall  be  chased 
away  as  a  vision  of  the  night. 

The  eye  also  which  saw  him  shall  see  him  no  more;  they 
who  have  seen  him  shall  say,  where  is  he?  He  shall  suck 
the  poison  of  asps ;  the  viper's  tongue  shall  slay  him.  In 
the  fullness  of  his  sufficiency  he  shall  be  in  straits:  every 
hand  shall  come  upon  him.  He  shall  flee  from  the  iron 
weapon,  and  the  bow  of  steel  shall  strike  him  through.  A 
fire  not  blown  shall  consume  him.  The  heaven  shall  reveal 
his  iniquity,  and  the  earth  shall  rise  up  against  him. 

The  increase  of  his  house  shall  depart.  His  goods  shall 
flee  away  in  the  day  of  wrath.  The  light  of  the  wicked 
shall  be  put  out;  the  light  shall  be  darkened  in  his  taber- 
nacle. The  steps  of  his  strength  shall  be  straitened,  and 
his  own  counsel  shall  cast  him  down.  For  he  is  cast  into 
a  net  by  his  own  feet.  He  walketh  upon  a  snare. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  300 

Terrors  sball  make  him  afraid  on  every  side;  and  the 
robber  shall  prevail  against  him.  Brimstone  shall  be  scat- 
tered upon  his  habitation.  His  remembrance  shall  perish 
from  the  earth,  and  he  shall  have  no  name  in  the  street. 
He  shall  be  driven  from  light  into  darkness.  They  that 
come  after  him  shall  be  astonished  at  his  day.  He  shall 
drink  of  the  wrath  of  the  Almighty. 

FROM  THE  BIBLE. 


CCXIIL— ADAM. 

CREATION'S  heir!  the  first,  the  last, 

That  knew  the  world  his  own; 
Yet  stood  he,  mid  his  kingdom  vast, 

A  fugitive — o'erthrown ! 
Faded  and  frail  his  glorious  form, 

And  changed  his  soul  within, 
While  fear  and  sorrow,  strife  and  storm, 

Told  the  dark  secret — Sin  ! 

Unaided  and  alone  on  earth, 

He  bade  the  heavens  give  ear; 
But  every  star  that  sang  his  birth, 

Kept  silence  in  its  sphere: 
He  saw,  round  Eden's  distant  steep, 

Angelic  legions  stray; 
Alas !  he  knew  them  sent  to  keep 

His  guilty  foot  away. 

Then,  reckless,  turned  he  to 'his  own, 

The  world  before  him  spread; 
But  Nature's  was  an  altered  tone, 

And  breathed  rebuke  and  dread: 
Fierce  thunder-peal,  and  rocking  gale, 

Answered  the  storm-swept  sea, 
While  crashing  forests  joined  the  wail; 

And  all  said,  "  Cursed  for  thee." 

This,  spoke  the  lion's  prowling  roar, 

And  this,  the  victim's  cry; 
This,  written  in  defenseless  gore, 

Forever  met  his  eye : 


370  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

And  not  alone  each  sterner  power 
Proclaimed  just  heaven's  decree; 

The  faded  leaf,  the  dying  flower, 
Alike  said,  "  Cursed  for  thee." 

Though  mortal,  doomed  to  many  a  length 

Of  life's  now  narrow  span, 
Sons  rose  around  in  pride  and  strength ; 

They,  too,  proclaimed  the  ban. 
'Twas  heard,  amid  their  hostile  spears, 

Seen,  in  the  murderer's  doom, 
Breathed,  from  the  widow's  silent  tears, 

Felt,  in  the  infant's  tomb. 

Ask  not  the  wanderer  s  after-fate, 

His  being,  birth,  or  name; 
Enough  that  all  have  shared  his  state, 

That  man  is  still  the  same. 
Still  briar  and  thorn  his  life  o'ergrow, 

Still  strives  his  soul  within; 
While  care,  and  pain,  and  sorrow  show 

The  same  dark  secret — Sin. 


CCXIV.— MONT  BLANC. 

BLANC;  one  of  the  summits  of  the  Alps. 

ARVE;  (Ar'-vy,)  }  streams  from  the  mountains. 

ARVEIRON  ;  (Ar-vy'-ron^  J 

HAST  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  -morning  star 

In  his  steep  course?     So  long  he  seems  to  pause 

On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  oh  sovereign  Blanc ! 

The  Arve,  and  the  Arveiron  at  thy  base 

Rave  ceaselessly,  while  thou,  dread  mountain  form, 

Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 

How  silently!     Around  thee  and  above, 

Deep  is  the  sky  and  black:  transpicuous  deep, 

An  ebon  mass!     Methinks  thou  piercest  it, 

As  with  a  wedge!  but  when  I  look  again, 

It  seems  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 

Thy  habitation  from  eternity. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  371 

Oh!  dread  and  silent  form!     I  gazed  on  thee, 

Till  thou,  still  present  to  iny  bodily  eye, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought.     Entranced  in  prayer, 

I  worshiped  the  Invisible  alone: 

Yet  thou,  methinks,  wast  working  on  my  soul, 

E'en  like  some  deep,  enchanting  melody, 

So  sweet,  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it. 

Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  in  the  earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light? 
Who  made  thee  father  of  perpetual  streams? 
And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents,  fiercely  glad, 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death? 
From  darkness  let  you  loose,  and  icy  dens, 
Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 
Forever  shattered,  and  the  same  forever? 
Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 
Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy, 
Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam? 

Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon?     Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?     Who,  with  lovely  flowers 
Of  living  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet? 
God!  God!  the  torrents  like  a  shout  of  nations 
Utter ;  the  ice-plain  bursts,  and  answers,  God ! 
God!  sing  the  meadow-streams  with  gladsome  voice, 
And  pine  groves  with  their  soft  and  soul-like  sound: 
The  silent  snow-mass,  loosening,  thunders,  God! 

Ye  dreadless  flowers,  that  fringe  the  eternal  frost! 
Ye  wild  goats,  bounding  by  the  eagle's  nest! 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  blast ! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds ! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements! 
Utter  forth  God!  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise! 

And  thou,  oh  silent  form,  alone  and  bare, 
Whom,  as  I  lift  again  my  head,  bowed  low 
In  silent  adoration,  I  again  behold, 
And  to  thy  summit  upward  from  thy  base 
Sweep  slowly,  with  dim  eyes,  suffused  with  tears, 
Awake,  thou  mountain  form!     Rise,  like  a  cloud; 
Rise,  like  a  cloud  of  incense  from  the  earth! 


372  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW    SPEAKER. 

Thou  kingly  spirit  throned  among  the  hills! 
Thou  dread  einbassador  from  earth  to  heaven, 
Great  hierarch!  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  the  rising  sun. 
Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  calls  on  God. 
FKOM  COLERIDGE. 


CCXV.— PROGRESS  OF  SCIENCE. 

ONE  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  this  age,  is 
the  extraordinary  progress  which  it  has  witnessed  in  popu- 
lar knowledge.  A  new  and  powerful  impulse  has  been 
acting  in  the  social  system  of  late,  producing  this  effect  in 
a  most  remarkable  degree. 

In  morals,  in  politics,  in  art,  in  literature,  there  is  a 
vast  accession  to  the  number  of  readers,  and  to  the  num- 
ber of  proficients.  The  present  state  of  popular  knowl- 
edge is  not  the  result  of  a  slow  and  uniform  progress,  pro- 
ceeding through  a  lapse  of  years,  with  the  same  regular 
degree  of  motion.  It  is  evidently  the  result  of  some  new 
causes,  brought  into  powerful  action,  and  producing  their 
consequences  rapidly  and  strikingly.  What  are  these 
causes  ? 

This  is  not  an  occasion  for  discussing  such  a  question  at 
length.  Allow  me  to  say,  however,  that  the  improved  state 
of  popular  knowledge  is  but  the  necessary  result  of  the 
improved  condition  of  the  great  mass  of  the  people. 
Knowledge  is  not  one  of  our  merely  physical  wants.  Life 
may  be1  sustained  without  it. 

But,  in  order  to  live,  men  must  be  fed,  and  clothed,  and 
sheltered  ;  and  in  a  state  of  things  in  which  one's  whole 
labor  can  do  no  more  than  procure  clothes,  food,  and  shel- 
ter, he  can  have  no  time  nor  means  for  mental  improve- 
ment. Knowledge,  therefore,  is  not  attained,  and  can  not 
be  attained,  till  there  is  some  degree  of  respite  from  daily 
manual  toil^  and  never-ending  drudgery.  But  whenever  a 
less  degree  of  labor  will  produce  the  absolute  necessaries 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  373 

of  life,  then  there  come  leisure  and  means,  both  to  teach 
and  to  learn. 

But  if  this  great  and  wonderful  extension  of  popular 
knowledge  be  the  result  of  |in_  improved  condition,  it  may 
well  be  asked,  w_hat  are  the  causes  which  have  thus  sud- 
denly produced  that  great  improvement?  How  is  it  that 
the  means  of  food,  clothing,  and  shelter,  are  now  so  much 
more  cheaply  and  abundantly  procured  than  formerly? 
The  main  cause  I  take  to  be  the  progress  of  scientific  art, 
or  a  new  extent  of  the  application  of  science  to  art.  This 
it  is,  which  has  so  much  distinguished  the  last  half  cen- 
tury in  Europe  and  in  America  ;  and  its  effects  are  every 
where  visible,  and  especially  among  us.  Man  has  found 
new  allies  and  auxiliaries,  in  the  powers  of  nature,  and  in 
the  indentions  of  mechanism.  FROM  WEBSTER. 


CCXVI.— THE  PRESENT  AGE. 

THE  Present  Age.  In  these  brief  words  what  a  world 
of  thought  is  comprehended  !  what  infinite  movements ! 
what  joys  and  sorrows!  what  hope  and  despair!  what  faith 
and  doubt!  what  silent  grief  and  loud  lament!  what  fierce 
conflicts  and  subtle  schemes  of  policy  !  what  private  and 
public  revolutions !  In  the  period  through  which  many  of 
us  have  passed,  what  thrones  have  been  shaken !  what 
hearts  have  bled !  what  millions  have  been  butchered  by 
their  fellow-creatures  !  what  hopes  of  philanthropy  have 
been  blighted !  and,  at  the  same  time,  what  magnificent  en- 
terprises have  been  achieved !  what  new  provinces  won  to 
science  and  art !  what  rights  and  liberties  secured  to  na- 
tions ! 

It  is  a  privilege  to  have  lived  in  an  age  so  stirring,  so 
pregnant,  so  eventful.  It  is  an  age  never  to  be  forgotten. 
Its  voice  of  warning  and  encouragement  is  never  to  die. 
Its  impression  on  history  is  indelible.  Amid  its  events, 
the  American  revolution,  the  first  distinct,  solemn  assertion 
of  the  rights  of  men,  and  the  French  revolution,  that  vol- 


374  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

canic  force  which  shook  the  earth  to  its  center,  are  never 
to  pass  from  men's  minds.  Over  this  age  the  night  will, 
indeed,  gather  more  and  more,  as  time  rolls  away.  But  in 
that  night  two  forms  will  appear,  Washington  and  Napo- 
leon;  the  one  a  lurid  meteor,  the  other  a  benign,  serene, 
and  undecaying  star. 

Another  American  name  will  live  in  history,  your  Frank- 
lin ;  and  the  kite  which  brought  lightning  from  heaven, 
will  be  seen  sailing  in  the  clouds  by  remote  posterity,  when 
the  city  where  he  dwelt  may  be  known  only  by  its  ruins. 
There  is,  however,  something  greater  in  the  age  than  its 
greatest  men.  It  is  the  appearance  of  a  new  power  in  the 
world,  the  appearance  of  the  multitude  of  men  on  the 
stage,  where  as  yet  the  few  have  acted  their  parts  alone. 
This  influence  is  to  endure  to  the  end  of  time. 

What  more  of  the  present  is  to  survive  ?  Perhaps  much, 
of  which  we  now  take  no  note.  The  glory  of  an  age  is 
often  hidden  from  itself.  Perhaps  some  word  has  been 
spoken  in  our  day  which  we  have  not  deigned  to  hear,  but 
which  is  to  grow  clearer  and  louder  through  all  ages. 
Perhaps  some  silent  thinker  among  us  is  at  work  in  his 
closet  whose  name  is  to  fill  the  earth.  Perhaps  there  sleeps 
in  his  cradle  some  reformer  who  is  to  move  the  church  and 
the  world,  who  is  to  open  a  new  era  in  history,  who  is  to 
fire  the  human  soul  with  new  hope  and  new  daring. 

What  else  is  to  survive  the  age?  That  which  the  age 
has  little  thought  of,  but  which  is  living  in  us  all.  I  mean 
the  soul,  the  immortal  spirit.  Of  this  all  ages  are  the  un- 
foldings,  and  it  is  greater  than  all.  We  must  not  feel,  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  vast  movements  in  our  own  and 
former  times,  as  if  we  ourselves  were  nothing.  I  repeat  it, 
we  are  greater  than  all.  We  are  to  survive  our  age,  to 
comprehend  it,  and  to  pronounce  its  sentence. 

FROM  CHANNING. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  375 


CCXVIL— AMERICAN  LIBERTY. 

I  CALL  upon  you,  fathers,  by  the  shades  of  your  ances- 
tors, by  the  dear  ashes  which  repose  in  this  precious  soil, 
by  all  you  are,  and  all  you  hope  to  be.  Resist  every  object 
of  disunion,  resist  every  encroachment  upon  your  liberties, 
resist  every  attempt  to  fetter  your  consciences,  or  smother 
your  public  schools,  or  extinguish  your  system  of  public 
instruction. 

I  call  upon  you,  mothers,  by  that  which  never  fails  in 
woman,  the  love  of  your  offspring.  Teach  them,  as  they 
climb  your  knees,  or  lean  on  your  bosoms,  the  blessings 
of  liberty.  Swear  them  at  the  altar,  as  with  their  bap- 
tismal vows,  to  be  true  to  their  country,  and  never  to  for- 
get or  forsake  her. 

I  call  upon  you,  young  men,  to  remember  whose  sons 
you  are ;  whose  inheritance  you  possess.  Life  can  never 
be  too  short,  which  brings  nothing  but  disgrace  and  op- 
pression. Death  never  comes  too  soon,  if  necessary  in 
defense  of  the  liberties  of  your  country. 

I  call  upon  you,  old  men,  for  your  counsels,  and  your 
prayers,  and  your  benedictions.  May  not  your  gray  hairs 
go  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave,  with  the  recollection  that 
you  have  lived  in  vain.  May  not  your  last  sun  sink  in 
the  west  upon  a  nation  of  slaves. 

No.  I  read  in  the  destiny  of  my  country  far  better 
hopes,  far  brighter  visions.  We,  who  are  now  assembled 
here,  must  soon  be  gathered  to  the  congregation  of  other 
days.  The  time  of  our  departure  is  at  hand,  to  make  way 
for  our  children  upon  the  theater  of  life.  May  God  speed 
them  and  theirs.  May  he,  who  at  the  distance  of  another 
century  shall  stand  here  to  celebrate  this  day,  still  look 
round  upon  a  free,  happy,  and  virtuous  people.  May  he 
have  reason  to  exult  as  we  do.  May  he,  with  all  the  en- 
thusiasm of  truth  as  well  as  of  poetry,  exclaim,  that  here 
is  still  his  country.  FROM  STORY. 


376  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXVIIL—AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

WE  can  not  honor  our  country  with  too  deep  a  rever- 
ence. We  can  not  love  her  with  an  affection,  too  pure 
and  fervent.  We  can  hot  serve  her  with  an  energy  of 
purpose  or  faithfulness  of  zeal,  too  steadfast  and  ardent. 
And  what  is  our  country  ? 

It  is  nof  the  East,  with  her  hills  and  her  valleys,  with  her 
countless  sails,  and  the  rocky  ramparts  of  her  shores.  It  is 
not  the  North,  with  her  thousand  villages,  and  her  harvest- 
home,  with  her  frontiers  of  the  lake  and  the  ocean.  It  is 
not  the  West,  with  her  forest-sea  and  her  inland-isles,  with 
her  luxuriant  expanses,  clothed  in  the  verdant  corn,  with 
her  beautiful  Ohio,  and  her  majestic  Missouri.  Nor  is  it 
yet  the  South,  opulent  in  the  mimic  snow  of  the  cotton,  in 
the  rich  plantations  of  the  rustling  cane,  and  in  the  golden 
robes  of  the  rice-field.  What  are  these  but  the  sister  fam- 
ilies of  one  greater,  better,  holier  family,  our  country  ? 

I  come  not  here  to  speak  the  dialect,  or  to  give  the 
counsels  of  the  patriot- statesman.  But  I  come,  a  patriot- 
scholar,  to  vindicate  the  rights,  and  to  plead  for  the  inter- 
ests of  American  Literature.  And  be  assured,  that  we 
can  not,  as  patriot-scholars,  think  too  highly  of  that  coun- 
try, or  sacrifice  too  much  for  her.  And  let  us  never  for- 
get, let  us  rather  remember  with  a  religious  awe,  that  the 
union  of  these  states  is  indispensable  to  our  Literature,  as 
it  is  to  our  national  independence  and  civil  liberties,  to  our 
prosperity,  happiness,  and  improvement. 

If,  indeed,  we  desire  to  behold  a  Literature  like  that, 
which  has  sculptured,  with  such  energy  of  expression, 
which  has  painted  so  faithfully  and  vividly,  the  crimes,  the 
vices,  the  follies  of  ancient  and  modern  Europe;  if  we  de- 
sire that  our  land  should  furnish  for  the  orator  and  the 
novelist,  for  the  painter  and  the  poet,  age  after  age,  the 
wild  and  romantic  scenery  of  war ;  the  glittering  march  of 
armies,  and  the  revelry  of  the  camp ;  the  shrieks  and  blas- 
phemies, and  all  the  horrors  of  the  battle-field;  the  desola- 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  377 

tion  of  the  harvest,  and  the  burning  cottage ;  the  storm, 
the  sack,  and  the  ruin  of  cities  : 

If  we  desire  to  unchain  the  furious  passions  of  jealousy 
and  selfishness,  of  hatred,  revenge,  and  ambition,  those 
lions,  that  now  sleep  harmless  in  their  den  :  if  we  desire, 
that  the  lake,  the  river,  the  ocean,  should  blush  with  the 
blood  of  brothers;  that  the  winds  should  waft  from  the 
land  to  the  sea,  from  the  sea  to  the  land,  the  roar  an-d  the 
smoke  of  battle;  that  the  very  mountain  tops  should  be- 
come altars  for  the  sacrifice  of  brothers :  if  we  desire  that 
these,  and  such  as  these,  should  be  the  elements  of  our 
Literature,  then,  but  then  only,  let  us  hurl  from  its  pedes- 
tal the  majestic  statue  of  our  union,  and  scatter  its  frag- 
ments over  all  our  land. 

But,  if  we  covet  for  our  country  the  noblest,  purest, 
loveliest  Literature,  the  world  has  ever  seen,  such  a  Litera- 
ture as  shall  honor  God,  and  bless  mankind;  a  Literature, 
whose  smiles  might  play  upon  an  angel's  face,  whose  tears 
"would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek;"  then  let  us  cling  to 
the  union  of  these  states,  with  a  patriot's  love,  with  a 
scholar's  enthusiasm,  with  a  Christian's  hope.  In  her 
heavenly  character,  as  a  holocaust  self-sacrifice  to  God  ;  at 
the  hight  of  her  glory,  as  the  ornament  of  a  free,  educated, 
peaceful,  Christian  people,  American  Literature  will  find 
that  the  intellectual  spirit  is  her  very  tree  of  life,  and  that 
union,  her  garden  of  paradise.  FROM  GEIMKE. 


CCXIX.— THE  RIVER.— A  NIGHT  SCENE.— No.  I. 

THIS  and  the  two  succeeding  extracts  from  an  exquisite  poem  by 
Bryant,  just  published,  may  be  spoken  separately  or  together. 

OH  River,  gentle  River,  gliding  on, 
In  silence,  underneath  this  starless  sky ! 
Thine  is  a  ministry  that  never  rests, 
Even  while  the  living  slumber. 

For  a  time, 

The  meddler,  man,  hath  left  the  elements 
In  peace;  the  plowman  breaks  the  clods  no  more; 
NEW  EC.  S.—  32 


378  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

The  miner  labors  not,  with  steel  and  fire, 
To  rend  the  rock;  and  he  that  hews  the  stone, 
And  he  that  fells  the  forest;  he  that  guides 
The  loaded  wain,  and  the  poor  animal 
That  drags  it,  have  forgotten,  for  awhile, 
Their  toils,  and  share  the  quiet  of  the  earth. 

Thou  pausest  not  in  thine  allotted  task, 
Oh  darkling  River!  through  the  night  I  hear 
Thy  wavelets  rippling  on  the  pebbly  beach ; 
I  hear  thy  current  stir  the  rustling  sedge 
That  skirts  thy  bed;  thou  intermittest  not 
•  Thine  everlasting  journey,  drawing  on 
A  silvery  train  from  many  a  mountain  brook 
And  woodland  spring. 

The  dweller  by  thy  side, 
Who  moored  his  little  boat  upon  thy  beach, 
Though  all  the  waters  that  upbore  it  then 
Have  slid  away  o'er  night,  shall  find,  at  morn, 
Thy  channel  filled  with  waters  freshly  drawn 
From  distant  cliffs,  and  hollows,  where  the  rill 
Comes  up  amid  the  water-flags. 

All  night 

Thou  givest  moisture  to  the  thirsty  roots 
Of  the  lithe  willow  and  o'erhanging  plane, 
And  cherishest  the  herbage  on  thy  bank, 
Speckled  with  little  flowers;  and  sendest  up, 
Perpetually,  the  vapors  from  thy  face 
To  steep  the  hills  with  dew,  or  darken  heaven 
With  marching  clouds  that  trail  the  abundant  showers. 

FROM  BRYANT. 


CCXX.— THE  RIVER— A  NIGHT  SCENE.— No   II. 

OH  River,  darkling  River!  what  a  voice 
Is  that  thou  utterest  while  all  else  is  still! 
The  ancient  voice  that,  centuries  ago, 
Sounded  between  thy  hills,  while  Rome  was  yet 
A  weedy  solitude  by  Tiber's  stream ! 
How  many,  at  this  hour,  along  thy  course, 
Slumber  to  thine  eternal  murmurings, 
That  mingle  with  the  utterance  of  their  dreams. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  379 

At  dead  of  night  the  child  awakes  and  hears 
Thy  soft,  familiar  dashings,  and  is  soothed, 
And  sleeps  again.     An  airy  multitude 
Of  little  echoes,  all  unheard  by  day, 
Faintly  repeat,  till  morning,  after  thee, 
The  story  of  thine  endless  going  forth. 

Yet  there  are  those  who  lie  beside  thy  bed, 
For  whom  thou  once  didst  rear  the  bowers  that  screen 
Thy  margin,  and  didst  water  the  green  fields, 
And  now  there  is  no  night  so  still  that  they 
Can  hear  thy  lapse;  their  slumbers,  were  thy  voice 
Louder  than  the  ocean's,  it  would  never  break. 

For  them  the  early  violet  no  more 
Opens  upon  thy  bank,  nor,  for  their  eyes, 
Glitter  the  crimson  pictures  of  the  clouds 
Upon  thy  bosom,  when  the  sun  goes  down. 
Their  memories  are  abroad,  the  memories 
Of  those  who  last  were  gathered  to  the  earth, 
Lingering  within  the  homes  in  which  they  sat, 
Hovering  about  the  paths  in  which  they  trod, 
Haunting  them  like  a  presence. 

Even  now, 

They  visit  many  a  dreamer  in  the  forms 
They  walked  in,  ere,  at  last,  they  wore  the  shroud; 
And  eyes  there  are  that  will  not  close  to  dream, 
For  weeping  and  for  thinking  of  the  grave, 
The  new-made  grave,  and  the  pale  one  within. 
These  memories  and  these  sorrows  all  shall  fade 
And  pass  away,  and  fresher  memories 
And  newer  sorrows  come  and  dwell  awhile 
Beside  thy  border,  and,  in  turn,  depart. 

FROM  BRYANT. 


CCXXL— THE  RIVER.— A  NIGHT  SCENE.— No.  III. 

OH  River,  gentle  River,  flowing  on, 
In  silence,  underneath  this  starless  sky ! 
On  glide  thy  waters,  till  at  last  they  flow 


380  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Beneath  the  windows  of  the  populous  town, 
And  all  night  long  give  back  the  gleam  of  lamps, 
And  glimmer  with  the  trains  of  light  that  stream 
From  halls  where  dancers  whirl. 

A  dimmer  ray 

Touches  thy  surface  from  the  silent  room 
In  which  they  tend  the  sick,  or  gather  round 
The  dying;  and  a  slender,  steady  beam 
Comes  from  the  little  chamber  in  the  roof. 
Where,  with  a  feverous  crimson  on  her  cheek, 
The  solitary  damsel,  dying  too, 
Plies  the  quick  needle  till  the  stars  grow  pale. 

There,  close  beside  the  haunts  of  revel,  stand 
The  blank,  unlighted  windows,  where  the  poor. 
In  darkness  and  in  hunger,  wake  till  morn. 
There,  drowsily,  on  the  half-conscious  ear 
Of  the  dull  watchman,  pacing  on  the  wharf, 
Falls  the  soft  ripple  of  thy  waves  that  strike 
On  the  moored  bark ;  but  guiltier  listeners 
Are  near,  the  prowlers  of  the  night,  who  steal 
From  shadowy  nook  to  shadowy  nook,  and  start, 
If  other  sounds  than  thine  are  in  the  air. 

Oh  glide  away  from  those  abodes,  that  bring 
Pollution  to  thy  channel  and  make  foul 
Thy  once  clear  current.     Summon  thy  quick  waves 
And  dimpling  eddies,  linger  not,  but  haste, 
"With  ell  thy  waters,  haste  thee  to  the  deep, 
There  to  be  tossed  by  shifting  winds,  and  rocked 
By  that  mysterious  force  which  lives  within 
The  sea's  immensity,  and  wields  the  weight 
Of  its  abysses,  swaying,  to  and  fro, 
The  billowy  mass,  until  the  stain,  at  length, 
Shall  wholly  pass  away,  and  thou  regain 
The  crystal  brightness  of  thy  mountain  springs. 

FROM  BRYANT. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  381 


CCXXIL— TRUE  POPULARITY. 

I  COME  now  to  speak  upon  what,  indeed,  I  would  have 
gladly  avoided,  had  I  not  been  particularly  pointed  at  for 
the  part  I  have  taken  in  this  bill.  It  has  been  said  by  a 
noble  lord  on  my  left  hand,  that  /  likewise  am  running 
the  race  of  popularity. 

If  the  noble  lord  means  by  popularity  that  applause  be- 
stowed by  after  ages  on  good  and  virtuous  actions,  I  have 
long  been  struggling  in  that  race  ;  to  what  purpose,  all- 
trying  time  can  alone  determine.  But  if  the  noble  lord 
means  that  mushroom  popularity  that  is  raised  without 
merit  and  lost  without  crime,  he  is  much  mistaken  in  his 
opinion.  I  defy  the  noble  lord  to  point  out  a  single  ac- 
tion of  my  life,  where  the  popularity  of  the  times  ever  had 
the  smallest  influence  on  my  determinations. 

I  thank  God  I  have  a  more  permanent  and  steady  rule 
for  my  conduct;  the  dictates  of  my  own  breast.  Those 
that  have  foregone  that  pleasing  adviser,  and  given  up 
their  mind  to  be  the  slave  of  every  popular  impulse,  I  sin- 
cerely pity.  I  pity  them  still  more,  if  their  vanity  leads 
them  to  mistake  the  shouts  of  a  mob  for  the  trumpet  of 
fame.  Experience  might  inform  them,  that  many  who  have 
been  saluted  with  the  huzzas  of  a  crowd  one  day,  have 
received  their  execrations  the  next ;  and  many,  who,  by 
the  popularity  of  their  times,  have  been  held  up  as  spotless 
patriots,  have,  nevertheless,  appeared  upon  the  historian's 
page,  when  truth  has  triumphed  over  delusion,  the  assas- 
sins of  liberty. 

Besides,  I  do  not  know  that  the  bill  now  before  your 
lordships  will  be  popular.  It  depends  much  upon  the 
caprice  of  the  day.  It  may  not  be  popular  to  compel  peo- 
ple to  pay  their  debts.  In  that  case,  the  present  must  be 
a  very  unpopular  bill.  It  may  not  be  popular  either  to 
take  away  any  of  the  privileges  of  parliament.  I  very  well 
remember,  and  many  of  your  lordships  may  remember,  that 
not  long  ago  the  popular  cry  was  for  the  extension  of  priv- 
ilege. So  far  did  they  carry  it  at  that  time,  that  it  was 


382  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

said  that  the  privilege  protected  members  even  in  criminal 
actions.  Nay,  such  was  the  power  of  popular  prejudices 
over  weak  minds,  that  the  very  decisions  of  some  of  the 
courts  were  tinctured  with  that  doctrine. 

It  was  undoubtedly  an  abominable  doctrine.  I  thought 
so  then,  and  think  so  still.  But,  nevertheless,  it  was  a 
popular  doctrine,  and  came  immediately  from  those  who 
are  called  the  friends  of  liberty ;  how  deservedly,  time  will 
show.  .True  liberty,  in  my  opinion,  can  only  exist  when 
justice  is  equally  administered  to  all ;  to  the  king,  and  to 
the  beggar. 

Where  is  the  justice,  then,  or  where  is  the  law,  that 
protects  a  member  of  parliament,  more  than  any  other 
man,  from  the  punishment  due  to  his  crimes  ?  The  laws 
of  this  country  allow  of  no  place,  nor  any  employment,  to 
be  a  sanctuary  for  crimes.  And  where  I  have  the  honor  to 
sit  as  judge,  neither  royal  favor  nor  popular  applause  shall 
ever  protect  the  guilty.  FKOM  LORD  MANSFIELD. 


CCXXIIL— NATIONAL  GLORY. 

THIS  refers  to  the  war  of  1812,  between  England  and  America.  Hull 
and  Perry  were  naval  officers,  and  Jackson  and  Brown,  generals. 

WE  are  asked,  what  have  we  gained  by  the  war?  I  have 
shown  that  we  have  lost  nothing  in  rights,  territory,  or 
honor  :  nothing  for  which  we  ought  to  have  contended, 
according  to  the  principles  of  the  gentlemen  on  the  other 
side,  or  according  to  our  own.  Have  we  gained  nothing 
by  the  war?  Let  any  man  look  at  the  degraded  condition 
of  this  country  before  the  war,  the  scorn  of  the  universe, 
the  contempt  of  ourselves,  and  tell  me  if  we  have  gained 
nothing  by  the  war.  What  is  our  present  situation  ? 
Respectability  and  character  abroad,  security  and  confi- 
dence at  home.  If  we  have  not  obtained,  in  the  opinion 
of  some,  the  full  measure  of  retribution,  our  character  and 
constitution  are  placed  on  a  solid  basis,  never  to  be 
shaken. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  383 

The  glory  acquired  by  our  gallant  tars,  by  our  Jack- 
sons  and  our  Browns  on  the  land ;  is  that  nothing  ? 
True,  we  had  our  vicissitudes.  There  were  humiliating 
events  which  the  patriot  can  not  review  without  deep  re- 
gret. But  the  great  account,  when  it  comes  to  be  bal- 
anced, will  be  found  vastly  in  our  favor.  Is  there  a  man 
who  would  obliterate  from  the  proud  pages  of  our  history 
the  brilliant  achievements  of  a  host  of  heroes  on  land  and 
sea,  whom  I  can  not  enumerate?  Is  there  a  man  who 
could  not  desire  a  participation  in  the  national  glory 
acquired  by  the  war?  Yes,  national  glory,  which,  however 
the  expression  may  be  condemned  by  some,  must  be  cher- 
ished by  every  genuine  patriot. 

What  do  I  mean  by  national  glory?  Glory  such  as  Hull, 
Jackson,  and  Perry  have  acquired.  And  are  gentlemen  in- 
sensible to  their  deeds?  to  their  value  in  animating  the 
country  in  the  hour  of  peril  hereafter?  Did  the  battle  of 
Thermopylae  preserve  Greece  but  once  ?  While  the  Mis- 
sissippi continues  to  bear  the  tributes  of  the  Iron  Moun- 
tains and  the  Alleghanies  to  her  Delta  and  to  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  the  eighth  of  January  will  be  remembered,  and 
the  glory  of  that  day  will  stimulate  future  patriots,  and 
nerve  the  arms  of  unborn  freemen  in  driving  the  presump- 
tuous invader  from  our  country's  soil. 

Gentlemen  may  boast  of  their  insensibility  to  feelings, 
inspired  by  the  contemplation  of  such  events.  But  I 
would  ask,  does  the  recollection  of  Bunker's  Hill,  Sara- 
toga, and  Yorktown,  afford  them  no  pleasure?  Every  act 
of  noble  sacrifice  to  the  country,  every  instance  of  patri- 
otic devotion  to  her  cause,  has  its  beneficial  influence.  A 
nation's  character  is  the  sum  of  its  splendid  deeds.  They 
constitute  one  common  patrimony,  the  nation's  inheritance. 
They  awe  foreign  powers :  they  arouse  and  animate  our 
own  people.  I  love  true  glory.  It  is  this  sentiment  which 
ought  to  be  cherished.  In  spite  of  cavils,  and  sneers,  and 
attempts  to  put  it  down,  it  will  finally  conduct  this  nation 
to  that  hight  to  which  God  and  nature  have  destined  it. 

FROM  HENKY  CLAY. 


384  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 


CCXXIV.— OUR  DUTY  TO  OUR  COUNTRY. 

THERMOPYLAE  and  MARATHON  ;  Grecian  battle-grounds. 

THE  MAN  OF  MACEDONIA;  Alexander. 

RUBICON;  one  of  the  boundaries  of  Italy. 

GOTHS,  VANDALS,  HUNS;  nations  which  conquered  Rome. 

•%    "  'Kt  <fV  ./  '<"<i  G    ;•     . 

THE  Old  World  has  already  revealed  to  us,  in  its  un- 
sealed books,  the  beginning  and  end  of  all  its  own  marvel- 
ous struggles  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  Greece,  lovely 
Greece, 

"The  land  of  scholars  and  the  nurse  of  arms," 

where  Sister  Republics,  in  fair  procession,  chanted  the 
praises  of  liberty  and  the  gods,  where  and  what  is  she  ? 

For  two  thousand  years  the  oppressor  has  ground  her  to 
the  earth.  Her  arts  are  no  more.  The  last  sad  relics  of 
her  temples  are  but  the  barracks  of  a  ruthless  soldiery. 
The  fragments  of  her  columns  and  her  palaces  are  in  the 
dust,  yet  beautiful  in  ruins.  She  fell  not  when  the  mighty 
were  upon  her.  Her  sons  were  united  at  Thermopylae  and 
Marathon  ;  and  the  tide  of  her  triumph  rolled  back  upon 
the  Hellespont.  She  was  conquered  by  her  own  factions. 
She  fell  by  the  hands  of  her  own  people.  The  man  of 
Macedonia  did  not  the  work  of  destruction.  It  was  already 
done  by  her  own  corruptions,  banishments,  and  dissen- 
sions. 

Rome,  republican  Rome,  whose  eagles  glanced  in  the 
rising  and  setting  sun;  where  and  what  is  she?  The 
eternal  city  yet  remains,  proud  even  in  her  desolation, 
noble  in  her  decline,  venerable  in  the  majesty  of  religion, 
and  calm  as  in  the  composure  of  death.  The  malaria  has 
but  traveled  in  the  paths  worn  by  her  destroyers.  More 
than  eighteen  centuries  have  mourned  over  the  loss  of  her 
empire. 

A  mortal  disease  was  upon  her  vitals  before  Caesar  had 
crossed  the  Rubicon.  Brutus  did  not  restore  her  health  by 
the  deep  probings  of  the  senate-chamber.  The  Goths,  and 
Vandals,  and  Huns,  the  swarms  of  the  north,  completed 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  385 

only  what  was  already  begun  at  home.  Romans  betrayed 
Rome.  The  legions  were  bought  and  sold;  but  the  people 
offered  the  tribute  money. 

We*  stand  the  latest,  and,  if  we  fail,  probably  the  last 
experiment  of  self-government  by  the  people.  We  have 
begun  it  under  circumstances  of  the  most  auspicious  nature. 
We  are  in  the  vigor  of  youth.  Our  growth  has  never  been 
checked  by  the  oppressions  of  tyranny.  Our  constitutions 
have  never  been  enfeebled  by  the  vices  or  luxuries  of  the 
Old  World.  Such  as  we  are,  we  have  been  from  the  be- 
ginning; simple,  hardy,  intelligent,  accustomed  to  self- 
government  and  to  self-respect. 

The  Atlantic  rolls  between  us  and  any  formidable  foe. 
Within  our  own  territory,  stretching  through  many  degrees 
of  latitude  and  longitude,  we  have  the  choice  of  many  pro- 
ducts, and  many  means  of  independence.  The  govern- 
ment is  mild.  The  press  is  free.  Religion  is  free. 
Knowledge  reaches,  or  may  reach,  every  home.  What 
fairer  prospect  of  success  could  be  presented?  What 
means  more  adequate  to  accomplish  the  sublime  end? 
What  is  more  necessary  than  for  the  people  to  preserve 
what  they  have  themselves  created  ? 

Already  has  the  age  caught  the  spirit  of  our  institutions. 
It  has  already  ascended  the  Andes,  and  snuffed  the  breezes 
of  both  oceans.  It  has  infused  itself  into  the  life-blood 
of  Europe,  and  warmed  the  sunny  plains  of  France  and 
the  lowlands  of  Holland.  It  has  touched  the  philosophy 
of  Germany  and  the  north.  Moving  on  to  the  south,  it 
has  opened  to  Greece  the  lessons  of  her  better  days.  Can 
it  be  that  America,  under  such  circumstances,  can  betray 
herself?  Can  it  be  that  she  is  to  be  added  to  the  catalogue 
of  Republics,  the  inscription  upon  whose  ruins  is :  THEY 
WERE,  BUT  THEY  ARE  NOT?  Forbid  it,  my  countrymen ! 
Forbid  it,  Heaven  !  FKOM  STORY. 


NEW  EC.  S.— 33 


380  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXXV.— • OUR  LIBERTY  IN  OUR  OWN  KEEPING, 
rtij  ••••••   . 

LET  no  one  accuse  me  of  seeing  wild  visions,  and 
dreaming  impossible  dreams.  I  am  only  stating  what  may 
be  done,  not  what  will  be  done.  We  may  most  shame- 
fully betray  the  trust  reposed  in  us;  we  may  most  mise- 
rably defeat  the  fond  hopes  entertained  of  us.  Wre  may 
become  the  scorn  of  tyrants  and  the  jest  of  slaves.  From 
our  fate,  oppression  may  assume  a  bolder  front  of  inso- 
lence, and  its  victims  sink  into  a  darker  despair. 

In  that  event,  how  unspeakable  will  be  our  disgrace ! 
With  what  weight  of  mountains  will  the  infamy  lie  upon 
our  souls !  The  gulf  of  ruin  will  be  as  deep  as  the  eleva- 
tion we  might  have  attained  is  high.  How  wilt  thou  fall 
from  heaven,  O  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning !  Our  be- 
loved country  with  ashes  for  beauty,  the  golden  cord  of 
our  union  broken,  its  scattered  fragments  presenting  every 
form  of  misrule,  our  "soil  drenched  with  fraternal  blood," 
the  life  of  man  stripped  of  its  grace  and  dignity,  the  prizes 
of  honor  gone,  and  virtue  divorced  from  half  its  encour- 
agements and  supports : — these  are  gloomy  pictures,  which 
I  would  not  invite  your  imaginations  to  dwell  upon,  but 
only  to  glance  at,  for  the  sake  of  the  warning  lessons  we 
may  draw  from  them. 

Remember  that  we  can  have  none  of  those  consolations 
which  sustain  the  patriot,  who  mourns  over  the  misfor- 
tunes of  his  country.  Our  Rome  can  not  fall,  and  we  be 
innocent.  No  conqueror  will  chain  us  to  the  car  of  his  tri- 
umphs. No  countless  swarms  of  Huns  and  Goths  will 
bury  the  memorials  and  trophies  of  civilized  life  beneath 
a  living  tide  of  barbarism.  Our  own  selfishness,  our  own 
neglect,  our  own  passions,  and  our  own  vices,  will  furnish 
the  elements  of  our  destruction. 

With  our  own  hands  we  shall  tear  down  the  stately  edi- 
fice of  our  glory.  We  shall  die  by  self-inflicted  wounds. 
But  we  will  not  talk  of  things  like  these.  We  will  not 
think  of  failure,  dishonor,  and  despair.  We  will  not  admit 
the  possibility  of  being  untrue  to  our  fathers  and  our- 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  387 

selves.  We  will  elevate  our  minds  to  the  contemplation 
of  our  high  duties  and  the  great  trust  committed  to  us. 
We  will  resolve  to  lay  the  foundation  of  our  prosperity  on 
that  rock  of  private  virtue,  which  can  not  be  shaken,  until 
the  laws  of  the  moral  world  are  reversed. 

From  our  own  breasts  shall  flow  the  silent  springs  of 
national  increase.  Then  our  success,  our  happiness,  our 
glory,  will  be  inevitable.  We  may  calmly  smile  at  all  the 
croakings  of  the  ravens,  whether  of  native  or  of  foreign 
breed.  The  whole  will  not  grow  weak  by  the  increase  of 
its  parts.  Our  growth  will  be  like  that  of  the  mountain 
oak;  which  strikes  its  roots  more  deeply  into  the  soil,  and 
clings  to  it,  with  a  closer  grasp,  as  its  lofty  head  is  exalted, 
and  its  broad  arms  stretched  out. 

The  loud  burst  of  joy  and  gratitude,  which  is,  to  this 
day,  breaking  from  the  full  hearts  of  a  mighty  people,  will 
never  cease  to  be  heard.  No  chasm  of  sullen  silence  will 
interrupt  its  course.  No  discordant  notes  of  sectional 
madness,  will  mar  the  general  harmony.  Year  after  year 
will  increase  it,  by  tributes  from  now  unpeopled  solitudes. 
The  farthest  west  shall  hear  it,  and  rejoice.  The  Oregon 
shall  swell  with  the  voice  of  its  waters.  The  Rocky  Moun- 
tains shall  fling  back  the  glad  sound  from  their  snowy 
crests. 


CCXXVI.— THE  TORCH  OF  LIBERTY. 

BACCHANTE  ;  Bac-chan'-te,  one  intoxicated :  from  Bacchus,  the  God  of 
wine. 

I  SAW  it  all  in  Fancy's  glass; 

Herself,  the  fair,  the  wild  magician, 
Who  bade  this  splendid  day-dream  pass, 

And  named  each  gliding  apparition. 
'Twas  like  a  torch-race;  such  as  they 

Of  Greece,  performed,  in  ages  gone, 
When  the  fleet  youths  in  long  array, 

Passed  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on. 


388  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

I  saw  the  expectant  nations  stand, 

To  catch  the  coming  flame  in  turn ; 
I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand, 

The  clear,  though  struggling,  glory  burn. 
And,  O,  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 

'Twas,  in  itself,  a  joy  to  see; 
While  Fancy  whispered  in  my  ear,  ^ 

"That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty!" 

And  each,  as  she  received  the  flame, 

Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray ; 
Then,  smiling,  to  the  next  who  came, 

Speeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 
From  Albion,  first,  whose  ancient  shrine 

Was  furnished  with  the  fire  already, 
Columbia  caught  the  boon  divine, 

And  lit  a  flame,  like  Albion's,  steady. 

The  splendid  gift  then  Gallia  took,  ^ 

And,  like  a  wild  Bacchante,  raising 
The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook, 

As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazing! 
Thus,  kindling  wild,  so  fierce  and  high 

Her  altar  blazed  into  the  air, 
That  Albion,  to  that  fire  too  nigh, 

Shrank  back,  and  shuddered  at  its  glare! 

Next,  Spain,— so  new  was  light  to  her, 

Leaped  at  the  torch ;  but,  ere  the  spark, 
That  fell  upon  her  shrine  could  stir, 

'Twas  quenched,  and  all  again  was  dark! 
Yet  no — not  quenched, — a  treasure,  worth 

So  much  to  mortals,  rarely  dies : 
Again  her  living  light  looked  forth, 

And  shone,  a  beacon  in  all  eyes! 

Who  next  received  the  flame?    Alas! 

Unworthy  Naples!     Shame  of  shames, 
That  ever  through  such  hands  should  pass 

That  brighest  of  all  earthly  flames ! 
Scarce  had  her  fingers  touched  the  torch, 

When,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed, 
Nor  waiting  even  to  feel  the  scorch, 

She  dropped  it  to  the  earth — and  fled! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES. 

And  fallen  it  might  have  long  remained; 

But  Greece,  who  saw  her  moment  now, 
Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stained, 

And  waved  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 
And  Fancy  bade  me  mark  where,  o'er 

Her  altar,  as  its  flame  ascended, 
Fair  laureled  spirits  seemed  to  soar, 

Who  thus  in  song  their  voices  blended: 

"  Shine,  shine  forever,  glorious  Flame, 

Divinest  gift  of  gods  to  men ! 
From  Greece  thy  earliest  splendor  came, 

To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again. 
Take,  Freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round ; 

When  dimmed,  revive;  when  lost,  return, 
Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found, 

On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn!" 
FROM  MOORE. 


CCXXVII.— KING  LEAR.— SCENE  I. 

THIS  scene  may  be  spoken  alone,  or  in  connection  with  either  the 
three  or  the  four  following.  To  give  the  story,  however,  its  full  in- 
terest, they  should  all  be  spoken  in  connection. 

CHARACTERS. — King  Lear ;  Goneril,  Regan,  and  Cordelia,  his  daughters  ; 
and  Kent,  a  friend  of  Lear.  All  present. 

Lear.     TELL  me,  my  daughters, 
Since  now  we  will  divest  us,  both  of  rule, 
Interest  of  territory,  cares  of  state, 
Which  of  you,  shall  we  say,  doth  love  us  most  ? 
That  we  our  largest  bounty  may  extend 
Where  merit  doth  most  challenge  it.     Goneril, 
Our  eldest-born,  speak  first. 

Gon,     Sir,  I 

Do  love  you  more  than  words  can  wield  the  matter, 
Dearer  than  eyesight,  space,  and  liberty; 
Beyond  what  can  be  valued,  rich,  or  rare; 
No  less  than  life,  with  grace,  health,  beauty,  honor; 
As  much  as  child  e'er  loved,  or  father  found. 
A  love  that  makes  breath  poor,  and  speech  unable : 
Beyond  all  manner  of  so  much  I  love  you. 


390  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Cor.      (Aside.)   What  shall  Cordelia  do?   Love  and  be  silent. 

Lear.    Of  all  these  bounds,  even  from  this  line  to  this, 
With  shadowy  forests,  and  with  champaigns  riched, 
With  plenteous  rivers,  and  wide-skirted  meads, 
We  make  thee  lady. 
What  says  our  second  daughter, 
Our  dearest  Regan?     Speak. 

Beg.     I  am  made  of  that  self  metal  as  my  sister, 
And  prize  me  at  her  worth.     In  my  true  heart 
I  find,  she  names  my  very  deed  of  love; 
Only  she  comes  too  short;  that  I  profess 
Myself  an  enemy  to  all  other  joys, 
Which  the  most  precious  square  of  sense  possesses; 
And  find,  I  am  alone  felicitate 
In  your  dear  highness'  love. 

Cor.      (Aside.)     Then  poor  Cordelia! 
And  yet  not  so:  since,  I  am  sure,  my  love's 
More  richer  than  my  tongue. 

Lear.    To  thee,  and  thine,  hereditary  ever, 
Remain  this  ample  third  of  our  fair  kingdom; 
No  less  in  space,  validity,  and  pleasure, 
Than  that  conferred  on  Goneril.     Now  our  joy, 
Although  the  last,  not  least;  what  can  you  say,  to  draw 
A  third  more  opulent  than  your  sisters  ?    Speak 

Cor.      Nothing,  my  lord. 

Lear.    Nothing  ? 

Cor.     Nothing. 

Lear.    Nothing  can  come  of  nothing.     Speak  again. 

Cor.     Unhappy  that  I  am,  I  can  not  heave 
My  heart  into  my  mouth.     I  love  your  majesty, 
According  to  my  bond;  nor  more,  nor  less. 

Lear.    How,  how,  Cordelia?    Mend  your  speech  a  little, 
Lest  it  may  mar  your  fortunes. 

Cor.     Good  my  lord, 

You  are  my  father,  have  bred  me,  loved  me. 
I  return  those  duties  back  as  are  right  fit, 
Obey  you,  love  you,  and  most  honor  you. 
Why  have  my  sisters  husbands,  if  they  say 
They  love  you,  all?    Haply,  when  I  shall  wed, 
That  lord,  whose  hand  must  take  my  plight,  shall  carry 
Half  my  love  with  him,  half  my  care  and  duty. 
Sure,  I  shall  never  marry  like  my  sisters, 
To  love  my  father  all. 

Lear,   But  goes  this  with  thy  heart? 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  391 

Cor.      Ay,  good  my  lord. 

Lear.    So  young,  and  so  untender! 

Cor.      So  young,  my  lord,  and  true. 

Lear.    Let  it  be  so.     Thy  truth,  then,  be  thy  dower; 
For,  by  the  sacred  radiance  of  the  sun ; 
The  mysteries  of  Hecate,  and  the  night; 
By  all  the  operations  of  the  orbs, 
From  whom  we  do  exist,  and  cease  to  be; 
Here  I  disclaim  all  my  paternal  care, 
Propinquity  and  property  of  blood, 
And  as  a  stranger  to  my  heart  and  me, 
Hold  thee,  from  this,  forever. 

Kent.    Good,  my  liege, — 

Lear.    Peace,  Kent! 

Come  not  between  the  dragon  and  his  wrath ; 
I  loved  her  most,  and  thought  to  set  my  rest 
On  her  kind  nursery.  Hence,  and  avoid  my  sight — 

(To  Cordelia.} 

So  be  my  grave  my  peace,  as  here  I  give 
Her  father's  heart  from  her ! 
Let  pride,  which  she  calls  plainness,  marry  her. 
Regan  and  Goneril, 

I  do  invest  you  jointly  with  my  power, 
Pre-eminence,  and  all  the  large  effects 
That  troop  with  majesty.     Ourself,  by  monthly  course, 
With  reservation  of  a  hundred  knights, 
By  you  to  be  sustained,  shall  our  abode 
Make  with  you  by  due  turns.     Only  we  still  retain 
The  name,  and  all  additions  to  a  king. 
The  sway,  revenue,  execution  of  the  rest,  be  yours. 

Kent.    Royal  Lear, 

Whom  I  have  ever  honored  as  my  king, 
Loved  as  my  father,  as  my  master  followed, 
As  my  great  patron,  thought  on  in  my  prayers, — 

Lear.    The  bow  is  bent  and  drawn,  make  from  the  shaft. 
Kent    Let  it  fall  rather,  though  the  fork  invade 
The  region  of  my  heart.     Be  Kent  unmannerly 
When  Lear  is  mad.     What  wouldst  thou  do,  old  man? 
Think'st  thou,  that  duty  shall  have  dread  to  speak 
When  power  to  flattery  bows  ?    To  plainness,  honor's  bound, 
When  majesty  stoops  to  folly.     Reverse  thy  doom: 
And,  in  thy  best  consideration,  check 
This  hideous  rashness ;  answer  my  life,  my  judgment, 
Thy  youngest  daughter  does  not  love  thee  least, 


392  M°GUFFEY'S    NEW    SPEAKER. 

Nor  are  those  empty  hearted,  whose  low  sound 
Eeverbs  no  hollowness. 

Lear.    Kent,  on  thy  life,  no  more. 

Kent.    My  life  I  never  held  but  as  a  pawn, 
To  wage  against  thine  enemies. 

Lear.    Out  of  my  sight! 
If,  on  the  tenth  day  following, 
Thy  banished  trunk  be  found  in  our  dominions, 
That  moment  is  thy  death.     (Exeunt) 

FROM  SHAKSPEAKB. 


CCXXVIII.— KING  LEAR—ScENE  II. 

CHARACTERS. — Lear,  Kent,  Goneril,  Steward,  and  attendant.  The 
place,  a  hall  in  Goaerifs  palace. 

(Enter  Kent,  disguised.) 

Kent.    Now,  banished  Kent, 

If  thou  canst  serve  where  thou  dost  stand  condemned, 
(So  may  it  come !)  thy  master,  whom  thou  lov'st, 
Shall  find  thee  full  of  labors. 

(Enter  Lear  and  attendants.) 

Lear.  Let  me  not  stay  a  jot  for  dinner.  Go,  get  it  ready. — 
(Exit  an  attendant.) — How  now,  what  art  thou  ? 

Kent.    A  man,  sir. 

Lear.  What  dost  thou  profess?  What  wouldst  thou  with 
us? 

Kent.  I  do  profess  to  be  no  less  than  I  seem  ;  to  serve  him 
truly,  that  will  put  me  in  trust;  to  love  him  that  is  honest;  to 
converse  with  him  that  is  wise,  and  says  little;  to  fear  judgment; 
to  fight,  when  I  can  not  choose ;  and  to  eat  no  fish. 

Lear.    What  art  thou  ? 

Kent.    A  very  honest-hearted  fellow,  and  as  poor  as  the  king. 

Lear.  If  thou  be  as  poor  for  a  subject,  as  he  is  for  a  king, 
thou  art  poor  enough.  What  wouldst  thou  ? 

Kent.    Service. 

Lear.    Whom  wouldst  thou  serve? 

Kent.    You. 

Lear.    Dost  thou  know  me,  fellow  ? 

Kent.  No,  sir;  but  you  have  that  in  your  countenance,  which 
I  would  fain  call  master. 

Lear.    What's  that? 

Kent.    Authority. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  393 


Lear.    What  service  canst  thou  do? 

Kent.  I  can  keep  honest  counsel,  ride,  run,  mar  a  curious 
tale  in  telling  it,  and  deliver  a  plain  message  bluntly ;  that  which 
ordinary  men  are  fit  for,  I  am  qualified  in :  and  the  best  of  me 
is  diligence. 

Lear.    How  old  art  thou  ? 

Kent.  Not  so  young,  sir,  to  love  a  woman  for  singing ;  nor  so 
old  to  dote  on  her  for  any  thing.  I  have  years  on  my  back 
forty-eight. 

Lear.  Follow  me;  thou  shalt  serve  me.  If  I  like  thee  no 
worse  after  dinner,  I  will  not  part  from  thee  yet.  Dinner,  ho, 
dinner. 

(Enter  Steward.} 
You,  you,  sirrah,  where 's  my  daughter? 

Stew.    So  please  you —  (Exit.) 

Lear.  What  says  the  fellow?  Call  the  clodpoll  back.  I  think 
the  world's  asleep.  How  now?  Where's  my  daughter? 

Kent.    He  says,  my  lord,  your  daughter  is  not  well. 

Lear.    Why  come  not  the  slave  back  to  me  when  I  called  him  ? 

Kent.  Sir,  he  answered  me  in  the  roundest  manner,  he  would 
not. 

Lear.    He  would  not? 

Kent.  My  lord,  I  know  not  what  the  matter  is;  but,  to  my 
judgment,  your  highness  is  not  entertained  with  that  ceremo- 
nious affection  as  you  were  wont;  there's  a  great  abatement  of 
kindness  appears,  as  well  in  the  general  dependents,  as  in  the 
duke  himself  also,  and  your  daughter. 

Lear.    Ha!  say'st  thou  so? 

Kent.  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  if  I  be  mistaken: 
for  my  duty  can  not  be  silent,  when  I  think  your  highness  is 
wronged. 

Lear.    Thou  but  remindest  me  of  mine  own  conceptions.    I  have 
perceived  a  most  faint  neglect   of  late ;    which   I    have   rather 
blamed  as  mine  own  jealous  curiosity,  than  as  a  very  pretense 
and  purpose  of  unkindness.     I  will  inquire  into't.     Go  you,  and 
tell  my  daughter  I  would  speak  with  her. 
(Re-enter  Steicard.) 
O,  you  sir,  you  sir,  come  you  hither.     Who  am  I,  sir? 

Stew.     My  lady's  father. 

Lear.  My  lady's  father?  my  lord's  knave  :  you  dog!  you  slave! 
you  cur ! 

Stew.     I  am  none  of  this,  my  lord. 

Lear.    Do  you  bandy  looks  with  me,  you  rascal?     (> 
him. ) 


394  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Stew.    I'll  not  be  struck,  my  lord. 

Kent.  Nor  tripped  neither;  you  base  foot-ball  player.  (Trip- 
ping up  his  heels.) 

Lear.  I  thank  thee,  fellow;  thou  servest  me,  and  I'll  love 
thee. 

Kent.  Come,  sir,  arise,  away.  I'll  teach  you  differences. 
Away,  away.  If  you  will  measure  your  lubber's  length  again, 
tarry:  but  away:  go  to.  Have  you  wisdom?  so.  (Pushes  the 
Steward  out.) 

Lear.    Now,  my  friendly  knave,  I  thank  thee. 

(Enter  Goneril.) 

Lear.  How  now,  daughter?  What  makes  that  frontlet  on? 
Methinks,  you  are  too  much  of  late  i'  the  frown. 

Gon.    Sir,  your  insolent  retinue 
Do  hourly  carp  and  quarrel;  breaking  forth 
In  rank  and  not-to-be-endur-ed  riots. 
I  had  thought,  by  making  this  well  known  to  you, 
To  have  found  a  safe  redress :  but  now  grow  fearful, 
By  what  yourself  too  late  have  spoken  and  done, 
That  you  protect  this  course,  and  put  it  on 
By  your  allowance ;  which,  if  you  should,  the  fault 
Would  not  'scape  censure,  nor  the  redresses  sleep. 

Lear.    Are  you  our  daughter  ? 

Gon.  Come,  sir,  I  would  you  would  make  use  of  your  own 
good  wisdom,  and  put  away  these  dispositions,  which  of  late 
transform  you  from  what  you  rightly  are. 

Lear.  Does  any  here  know  me?  Why,  this  is  not  Lear. 
Does  Lear  walk  thus?  speak  thus?  Where  are  his  eyes? 
Sleeping  or  waking?  Who  is  it  that  can  tell  me  who  I  am? 
Lear's  shadow?  I  would  learn  that;  for  by  the  marks  of 
sovereignty,  knowledge,  and  reason,  I  should  be  false  persuaded 
I  had  daughters.  Your  name,  fair  gentlewoman? 

Gon.      Come,  sir: 

This  admiration  is  much  o'  the  favor 
Of  other  your  new  pranks.     I  do  beseech  you 
To  understand  my  purposes  aright. 
As  you  are  old  and  reverend,  you  should  be  wise. 
Here  do  you  keep  a  hundred  knights  and  squires; 
Men  so  disordered,  so  debauched  and  bold, 
That  this  our  court,  infected  with  their  manners, 
Shows  like  a  riotous  inn  more 

Than  a  graced  palace.     The  shame  itself  doth  speak 
For  instant  remedy.     Be  then  desired 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  395 

By  her,  that  else  will  take  the  thing  she  begs, 
A  little  to  disquantity  your  train. 

Lear.    Darkness  and  devils  ! 
Saddle  my  horses;  call  my  train  together. 
Degenerate  viper!     I'll  not  trouble  thee; 
Yet  have  I  left  a  daughter. 

Gon.      You  strike  my  people;  and  your  disordered  rabble 
Makes  servants  of  their  betters. 

Lear.    Detested  kite!  thou  liest: 
My  train  are  men  of  choice  and  rarest  parts, 
That  all  particulars  of  duty  know; 
And  in  the  most  exact  regard  support 
The  worships  of  their  name.     O  most  small  fault, 
How  ugly  didst  thou  in  Cordelia    show! 
Which,  like  an  engine,  wrenched  my  frame  of  nature 
From  the  fixed  place ;  drew  from  my  heart  all  love, 
And  added  to  the  gall.     O  Lear,  Lear,  Lear! 
Beat  at  this  gate,  that  let  thy  folly  in,     (Striking  his  head.) 
And  thy  dear  judgment  out ! 
Life  and  death !     I  am  ashamed 
That  thou  hast  power  to  shake  my  manhood  thus : 
That  these  hot  tears,  which  break  from  me  perforce, 
Should  make  thee  worth  them.     Blasts  and  fogs  upon  theel 
The  untented  woundings  of  a  father's  curse 
Pierce  every  sense  about  thee!     Old  fond  eyes, 
Beweep  this  cause  again,  I'll  pluck  you  out; 
And  cast  you,  with  the  waters  that  you  lose, 
To  temper  clay.     Ha!  is  it  come  to  this? 
Let  it  be  so.     Yet  have  I  left  a  daughter, 
Who,  I  am  sure,  is  kind  and  comfortable; 
When  she  shall  hear  this  of  thee,  with  her  nails 
She'll  flay  thy  wolfish  visage.     Thou  shalt  find, 
That  I'll  resume  the  shape  which  thou  dost  think 
I  have  cast  off  forever;  thou  shalt,  I  warrant  thee.     (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


396  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXXIX.— KING  LEAR— SCENE  III. 

CHARACTERS. — Lear,  Regan,  Goneril,  and  servant.     The  place,  Regaris 
palace. 

(Enter  Lear  and  Regan's  servant.} 

Lear.    ( To  servant. )    MY  daughter  deny  to  speak  with  me  ? 
She  is  sick?    Weary?     Traveled  hard?     Mere  fetches, 
The  images  of  revolt  and  flying  off! 
Bring  me  a  better  answer. 

Go  tell  the  duke  and  his  wife  I'd  speak  with  them. 
Now !  presently !     Bid  them  come  forth  and  hear  me, 
Or  at  their  chamber  door  I'll  beat  the  drum, 
Till  it  cry,  Sleep  to  death. 

(Enter  Regan.) 

Reg.      I  am  glad  to  see  your  highness. 

Lear.    Regan,  I  think  you  are.     I  know  what  reason 
I  have  to  think  so.     If  thou  shouldst  not  be  glad, 
I  would  divorce  me  from  thy  mother's  tomb. 
Beloved  Regan, 

Thy  sister's  naught.     0  Regan,  she  hath  tied 
Sharp-toothed  unkindness,  like  a  vulture,  here, 

(Points  to  his  heart.) 

I  can  scarce  speak  to  thee ;  thou  'It  not  believe, 
Of  how  depraved  a  quality — O  Regan! 

Reg.      I  pray  you,  sir,  take  patience.     I  have  hope, 
You  less  know  how  to  value  her  desert, 
Than  she  to  scant  her  duty. 

Lear.    Say,  how  is  that? 

Reg.      I  can  not  think,  my  sister  in  the  least 
Would  fail  her  obligation. 

Lear.    My  curses  on  her! 

Reg.      O,  sir,  you  are  old. 
Nature  in  you  stands  on  the  very  verge 
Of  her  confine.     You  should  be  ruled  and  led- 
Therefore,  I  pray  you, 
That  to  our  sister  you  do  make  return. 
Say,  you  have  wronged  her,  sir. 

Lear.    Ask  her  forgiveness  ? 
Do  you  but  mark  how  this  becomes  the  house? 
Dear  daughter,  7  confess  that  /  am  old ; 
Age  is  unnecessary :  on  my  knees  I  beg,          (Kneeling.) 
That  you'll  vouchsafe  me  raiment,  bed,  and  food. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  397 

Reg.      Good  sir,  no  more;  these  are  unsightly  tricks. 
Return  you  to  my  sister. 

Lear.    Never,  Regan. 
She  hath  abated  me  of  half  my  train; 
Looked  black  upon  me ;  struck  me  with  her  tongue, 
Most  serpent-like,  upon  the  very  heart. 
All  the  stored  vengeances  of  heaven  fall 
On  her  ungrateful  head !     Strike  her  young  bones, 
You  taking  airs,  with  lameness! 
You  nimble  lightnings,  dart  your  blinding  flames 
Into  her  scornful  eyes ! 

Reg.      0  the  blest  gods  ! 
So  will  you  wish  on  mo,  when  the  rash  mood's  on. 

Lear.    No,  Regan,  thou  shalt  never  have  my  curse. 
Thy  tender-hefted  nature  shall  not  give 
Thee  o'er  to  harshness.     Her  eyes  are  fierce,  but  thine 
Do  comfort,  and  not  burn.     'Tis  not  in  thee 
To  grudge  my  pleasures,  to  cut  off  my  train, 
To  bandy  hasty  words.      Thou  better  know'st 
The  offices  of  nature. 

Thy  half  o'  the  kingdom  hast  thou  not  forgot, 
Wherein  I  thee  endowed.    Who  comes  here  ?    O,  Heaven, 

(Enter  Goneril.) 

If  you  do  love  old  men,  if  your  sweet  sway 

Allow  obedience, 

Make  it  your  cause :  send  down,  and  take  my  part ! 

Art  not  ashamed  to  look  upon  this  beard?        (To  Goneril.) 

0,  Regan,  wilt  thou  take  her  by  the  hand  ? 

Gon.      Why  not  by  the  hand,  sir  ?     How  have  I  offended  ? 
All's  not  offense,  that  indiscretion  finds, 
And  dotage  terms  so. 

Lear.    0,  sides,  you  are  too  tough! 
Will  you  yet  hold  ? 

Reg.      I  pray  you,  father,  being  weak,  seem  so. 
If,  till  the  expiration  of  your  month, 
You  will  return  and  sojourn  with  my  sister, 
Dismissing  half  your  train,  come  then  to  me. 

Lear.    Return  to  her,  and  fifty  men  dismissed? 
No,  rather  I  adjure  all  roofs,  and  choose 
To  wage  against  the  enmity  o'  the  air; 
To  be  a  comrade  with  the  wolf  and  owl. 

Gon.     At  your  choice,  sir. 

Lear.    I  pray  thee,  daughter,  do  not  make  me  mad; 


398  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

I  will  not  trouble  thee,  my  child ;  farewell. 

We'll  no  more  meet,  no  more  see  one  another. 

But  yet  thou  art  my  flesh,  my  blood,  my  daughter; 

Or,  rather  a  disease  that's  in  my  flesh, 

Which  I  must  needs  call  mine ;  thou  art  a  boil, 

A  plague-sore,  an  embossed  carbuncle, 

In  my  corrupted  blood.     But  I  '11  not  chide  thee. 

Let  shame  come  when  it  will,  I  do  not  call  it. 

Mend,  when  thou  canst;  be  better,  at  thy  leisure. 

I  can  be  patient;  I  can  stay  with  Regan, 

I  and  my  hundred  knights. 

Reg.      Not  altogether  so,  sir. 
I  looked  not  for  you  yet,  nor  am  provided 
For  your  fit  welcome.     Give  ear,  sir,  to  my  sister. 

Lear.    Is  this  well  spoken  now? 

Reg.      I  dare  avouch  it,  sir.     What,  fifty  followers? 
Is  it  not  well  ?    What  should  you  need  of  more  ? 
Yea,  or  so  many  ? 
I  entreat  you 

To  bring  but  five  and  twenty;  to  no  more 
Will  I  give  place,  or  notice. 

Lear.    I  gave  you  all — 

Reg.      And  in  good  time  you  gave  it. 

Lear.    Made  you  my  guardians,  my  depositaries; 
But  kept  a  reservation  to  be  followed 
With  such  a  number.     What,  must  I  come  to  you 
With  five  and  twenty,  Regan  ?     Said  you  so  ? 

Reg.      And  speak  it  again,  my  lord;  no  more  with  me. 

Lear.    Those  wicked  creatures  yet  do  look  well  favored. 
I'll  go  with  thee;     (To  Goneril.) 
Thy  fifty  yet  doth  double  five  and  twenty, 
And  thou  art  twice  her  love. 

Gon.     Hear  me,  my  lord. 
What  need  you  five  and  twenty,  ten,  or  five, 
To  follow  in  a  house,  where  twice  so  many 
Have  a  command  to  tend  you? 

Reg.      What  need  one? 

Lear.    O,  reason  not  the  need :  our  basest  beggars 
Are  in  the  poorest  thing  superfluous: 
Allow  not  nature  more  than  nature  needs, 
Man's  life  is  cheap  as  beast's. 
You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  full  of  grief  as  age ;  wretched  in  both ! 
If  it  be  you  that  stir  these  daughters'  hearts 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  399 

Against  their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much 

To  bear  it  tamely.     Touch  me  with  noble  anger ! 

O,  let  not  woman's  weapons,  water-drops, 

Stain  my  man's  cheeks!     No,  you  unnatural  hags, 

I  will  have  such  revenges  on  you  both. 

That  all  the  world  shall — I  will  do  such  things, — 

What  they  are,  yet  I  know  not ;  but  they  shall  be 

The  terrors  of  the  earth.     You  think,  I'll  weep, 

No,  I'll  not  weep: 

I  have  full  cause  of  weeping;  but  this  heart 

Shall  break  into  a  hundred  thousand  flaws, 

Or  ere  I'll  weep. — O,  I  shall  go  mad! 

(Exeunt  Lear  and  attendants.) 

Reg.      Let  us  withdraw:  'twill  be  a  storm. 

Gon.     'Tis  his  own  blame.     He  hath  put 
Himself  from  rest,  and  must  needs  taste  his  folly. 

Reg.     Shut  up  the  doors.     'Tis  a  wild  night.     (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


CCXXX.— KING  LEAR— SCENE  IV. 

CHARACTERS. — Lear,  Kent,  and  a  Gentleman.     The  place,  a  heath.    A 
ftorm  raging,  with  thunder  and  lightning. 

(Enter  Kent  and  Gentleman,  meeting.) 

Kent.    WHO'S  here  besides  foul  weather? 

Gent.    One  minded  like  the  weather,  most  unquietly. 

Kent.    I  know  you.     Where 's  the  king  ? 

Gent.    Contending  with  the  fretful  elements. 
Bids  the  wind  blow  the  earth  into  the  sea, 
Or  swell  the  curl-ed  waters  'bove  the  main, 
That  things  might  change  or  cease;  tears  his  white  hair, 
Which  the  impetuous  blasts,  with  eyeless  rage, 
Catch  in  their  fury,  and  make  nothing  of: 
Strives  in  his  little  world  of  man,  to  out-scorn 
The  to-and-fro-conflicting  wind  and  rain. 
This  night,  wherein  the  cub-drawn  bear  would  couch, 
The  lion,  and  the  hunger-pinch-ed  wolf, 
Keep  their  fur  dry,  unbonneted  he  roves, 
And  bids  what  will,  take  all. 

(Enter  King  Lear. ) 

Lear.    Blow,  winds !  and  crack  your  cheeks !  rage !  blow  I 


400  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW  SPEAKER. 

You  cataracts  and  hurricanes!  spout 

Till  you  have  drenched  our  steeples. 

You  sulphurous  and  thought-executing  fires, 

Vaunt-couriers  to  oak-cleaving  thunder-bolts, 

Singe  my  white  head!  and  thou,  all-shaking  thunder, 

Strike  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world ! 

Crack  nature's  molds,  all  germins  spill  at  once, 

That  make  ungrateful  man!  spit,  fire!  spout,  rain! 

Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire,  are  my  daughters; 

I  tax  not  you,  ye  elements,  with  unkindness, 

I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  called  you  children: 

You  owe  me  no  subscription:  why,  then  let  fall 

Your  horrible  displeasure:  here  I  stand,  you  slaves; 

A  poor,  infirm,  weak,  and  despised  old  man : 

But  yet  I  call  you  servile  ministers, 

That  have  with  two  pernicious  daughters  joined 

Your  high  engendered  battles,  'gainst  a  head 

So  old  and  white  as  this.     O!  O!  'tis  foul! 

Let  the  great  gods, 

That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  our  heads, 

Find  out  their  enemies  now.     Tremble,  thou  wretch, 

That  hast  within  thee  undivulg-ed  crimes, 

Unwhipped  of  justice !  caitiff,  to  pieces  shake, 

That  under  covert  and  convenient  seeming, 

Hast  practiced  on  man's  life !     Close  pent-up  guilt, 

Rive  your  concealing  continents,  and  cry 

These  dreadful  summoners  grace !     I  am  a  man 

More  sinned  against,  than  sinning. 

Kent.  Gracious,  my  lord,  hard  by  here  is  a  hovel; 
Some  friendship  will  it  lend  you  'gainst  the  tempest; 
Repose  you  here. 

Lear.   My  wits  begin  to  turn. 

Kent,    Here  is  the  place,  my  lord;  good,  my  lord,  enter. 
The  tyranny  of  the  open  night's  too  much 
For  nature  to  endure. 

Lear.    Let  me  alone. 

Kent.   Good,  my  lord,  enter  here. 

Lear.    Wilt  break  my  heart? 

Kent.    I'd  rather  break  mine  own:  good,  my  lord,  enter. 

Lear.    Thou  think' st  'tis  much,  that  this  contentious  storm 
Invades  us  to  the  skin :  so  't  is  to  thee : 
But  where  the  greater  malady  is  fixed, 
The  less  is  scarcely  felt.     Thou'dst  shun  a  bear; 
But  if  thy  flight  lay  toward  the  raging  sea, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  401 

Thou'dst  meet  the  bear  i'  the  mouth.     When  the  mind's  free, 
The  body's  delicate;  the  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeling  else, 
Save  what  beats  there.     Filial  ingratitude! 
Is  it  not  as  this  mouth  should  tear  this  hand 
For  lifting  food  to't?     But  I  will  punish  home. 
No,  I  will  weep  no  more.     In  such  a  night 
To  shut  me  out!     Pour  on;  I  will  endure. 
In  such  a  night  as  this  !     O  Kegan !  Goneril ! 
Your  old  kind  father,  whose  frank  heart  gave  all ! 
O,  that  way  madness  lies;  let  me  shun  that; 
No  more  of  that.  (Exeunt.) 

FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


CCXXXL— KING  LEAR— SCENE  V. 

CHARACTERS. — King  Lear,  his  daughter  Cordelia,  and  a  Physician.    All 
present. 

Cor.    O  MY  dear  father!     Restoration  hang 
Her  medicine  on  thy  lips,  and  let  this  kiss 
Repair  those  violent  harms,  that  my  two  sisters 
Have  in  thy  reverence  made ! 
Had  you  not  been  their  father,  these  white  flakes 
Did  challenge  pity  of  them.     Was  this  a  face 
To  be  exposed  against  the  warring  winds? 
To  stand  against  the  deep,  dread-bolted  thunder? 
In  the  most  terrible  and  nimble  stroke 
Of  quick,  cross-lightning?    My  enemy's  dog, 
Though  he  had  bit  me,  should  have  stood  that  night 
Against  my  fire :  and  wast  thou  fain,  poor  father, 
To  hovel  thee  with  swine,  and  rogues  forlorn, 
In  short  and  musty  straw?    Alack,  alack! 
'Tis  wonder,  that  thy  life  and  wits,  at  once, 
Had  not  concluded  all.     He  wakes;  speak  to  him. 

Phys.  Madam,  do  you;  'tis  fittest. 

Cor.     How  does  my  royal  lord  ?     How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Lear.  You  do  me  wrong  to  take  me  out  o'  th'  grave : 
Thou  art  a  soul  in  bliss,  but  I  am  bound 
Upon  a  wheel  of  fire,  that  mine  own  tears 
Do  scald  like  molten  lead. 

Cor.     Sir,  do  you  know  me? 

Lear.  You  are  a  spirit,  I  know ;  when  did  you  die  ? 

Cor.     Still,  still  far  wide. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 34 


402  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Phys.  .He's  scarce  awake;  let  him  alone  awhile. 

Lear.    Where  have  I  been?  where  am  I?  fair  daylight? 
I  'm  mightily  abused ;  I  should  even  die  with  pity 
To  see  another  thus.     I  know  not  what  to  say ; 
I  will  not  swear   these  are  my  hands:  let's  see. 
I  feel  this  pin  prick:  would  I  were  assured 
Of  my  condition. 

Cor.     Oh !  look  upon  me,  sir, 
And  hold  your  hand  in  benediction  o'er  me; 
Nay,  you  must  not  kneel. 

Lear.   Pray,  do  not  mock  me; 
I  am  a  very  foolish,  fond,  old  man, 
Fourscore  and  upward ;  and,  to-  deal  plainly, 
I  fear  I  am  not  in  my  perfect  mind. 
Methinks  I  should  know  you,  and  know  this  man; 
Yet  I  am  doubtful :  for  I  'm  mainly  ignorant 
What  place  this  is;  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Remembers  not  these  garments;  nay,  I  know  not 
Where  I  did  lodge  last  night.     Pray,  do  not  mock  me  1 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady 
To  be  my  child  Cordelia. 

Cor.     And  so  I  am:  I  am. 

Lear.    Be  your  tears  wet  ?    Yes.     I  pray  you,  weep  not. 
If  you  have  poison  for  me,  I  will  drink  it. 
I  know  you  do  not  love  me;  for  your  sisters 
Have,  as  I  do  remember,  done  me  wrong. 
You  have  some  cause;  they  have  not. 

Cor.     No  cause,  no  cause. 

Lear.   Am  I  in  France  ? 

Cor.      In  your  own  kingdom,  sir. 

Lear.   Do  not  abuse  me. 

Phys.  Be  comforted,  good  madam; 
Desire  him  to  go  in;  trouble  him  no  more 
Till  further  settling. 

Cor.     Will't  please  your  highness  walk? 

Lear.  You  must  bear  with  me; 
Pray  you  now  forget  and  forgive : 
I  am  old  and  foolish. 

FKOM  SHAKSPEABE. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  403 


CCXXXIL— THE  QUACK. 

LADIES  and  gentlemen,  my  name  is  Puff  Stuff,  the  phy- 
sician to  that  great  and  mighty  Kou  Kann,  Emperor  of  all 
the  Chinas.  I  was  converted  to  Christianity  during  the 
embassy  of  the  late  lord  Macartney,  and  left  that  there 
country,  and  came  to  this  here,  which  may  be  reckoned  the 
greatest  blessing  that  ever  happened  to  Europe,  for  I've 
brought  with  me  the  following  unparalleled,  inestimable, 
and  never-to-be-matched  medicines. 

The  first  is  called  the  great  Parry  Mandyron  Rapski- 
anum,  from  Whandy  Whang  Whang.  One  drop  of  this, 
poured  into  any  of  your  gums,  if  you  should  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose  your  teeth,  will  cause  a  new  set  to  sprout 
out  like  mushrooms  from  a  hot-bed.  And  if  any  lady 
should  happen  to  be  troubled  with  that  unpleasant  and 
redundant  exuberance  called  a  beard,  it  will  remove  it  in 
three  applications,  and  with  greater  ease  than  Packwood's 
razor  strops. 

I'm  also  very  celebrated  in  the  cure  of  the  eyes.  The  late 
Emperor  of  China  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  eyes  by 
a  cataract.  I  very  dexterously  took  out  the  eyes  of  his 
majesty,  and  after  anointing  the  sockets  with  a  particular 
glutinous  happlication,  I  placed  in  two  eyes  from  the  head 
of  a  living  lion,  which  not  only  restored  his  majesty's 
wision,  but  made  him  dreadful  to  all  his  enemies  and  be- 
holders. I  beg  leave  to  say,  that  I  ave  hyes  from  different 
hannimals,  and  to  suit  all  your  different  faces  and  profes- 
sions. 

This  here  bottle,  which  I  olds  in  my  and,  is  called  the 
great  elliptical,  asiatical,  panticurial,  nervous  cordial,  which 
cures  all  diseases  incident  to  humanity.  I  don't  like  to 
talk  of  myself,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  because  the  man  who 
talks  of  imself  is  a  Hegotist,  but  this  I  vill  wenture  to  say 
of  myself,  that  I  am  not  only  the  greatest  physician  and 
philosopher  of  the  age,  but  the  greatest  genius  that  ever 
illuminated  mankind.  But  you  know  I  don't  like  to  talk 
of  myself. 


404  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

You  should  only  read  one  or  two  of  my  lists  of  cures, 
out  of  the  many  thousands  I  have  by  me.  If  you  knew 
the  benefits  so  many  people  have  received  from  my  grand 
elliptical,  asiatical,  panticurial  nervous  cordial,  that  cures 
all  diseases  incident  to  humanity,  none  of  you  would  be 
such  fools  as  to  be  sick.  I'll  just  read  one  or  two.  (Reads 
several  letters.)  "  Sir,  I  was  jammed  to  a  jelly  in  a  lin- 
seed oil  mill;  cured  with  one  bottle."  "Sir,  I  was  boiled 
to  death  in  a  soap  manufactory  ;  cured  with  one  bottle." 
"  Sir,  I  was  cut  in  half  in  a  saw-pit ;  cured  with  half  a 
bottle."  Now  comes  the  most  wonderful  of  all. 

"  Sir,  Venturing  too  near  a  powder-mill  at  Faversham,  I 
was,  by  a  sudden  explosion,  blown  into  a  million  of  atoms. 
By  this  unpleasant  accident  I  was  rendered  unfit  for  my 
business,  (a  banker's  clerk,)  but  hearing  of  your  grand 
elliptical,  asiatical,  panticurial,  nervous  cordial,  I  was  per- 
suaded to  make  essay  thereof.  The  first  bottle  united  my 
strayed  particles,  the  second  animated  my  shattered  frame, 
the  third  effected  a  radical  cure,  the  fourth  sent  me  home 
to  Lombard  street,  to  count  guineas,  make  out  bills  for 
acceptance,  and  recount  the  wonderful  effects  of  your  grand 
elliptical,  asiatical,  panticurial,  nervous  cordial,  that  cures 
all  diseases  incident  to  humanity." 


CCXXXIII.— THE  LEARNER. 

A  PUPIL  of  the  ^Esculapian  school 
Was  just  prepared  to  quit  his  master's  rule; 
Not  that  he  knew  his  trade,  as  it  appears, 
But  that  he  then  had  learnt  it  seven  years. 

Yet  think  not  that  in  knowledge  he  was  cheated 

All  that  he  had  to  study  still, 

Was,  when  a  man  was  well  or  ill, 
And  how,  if  sick,  he  should  be  treated. 

One  morn  he  thus  addressed  his  master; 
"Dear  sir,  my  honored  father  bids  me  say, 
If  I  could  now  and  then  a  visit  pay, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  405 

He  thinks,  with  you,  to  notice  how  you  do, 
My  business  I  might  learn  a  little  faster." 

"The  thought  is  happy,"  the  preceptor  cries; 
"A  better  method  he  could  scarce  devise; 
So  Bob,  (his  pupil's  name)  it  shall  be  so, 
And,  when  I  next  pay  visits,  you  shall  go." 

To  bring  that  hour,  alas !  time  briskly  fled : 

With  dire  intent,  away  they  went, 
And  now  behold  them  at  a  patient's  bed. 

The  master-doctor  solemnly  perused 
His  victim's  face,  and  o'er  his  symptoms  mused; 
Looked  wise,  said  nothing;  an  unerring  way, 
When  people  nothing  have  to  say. 

Then  felt  his  pulse,  and  smelt  his  cane, 

And  paused  and  blinked,  and  smelt  again, 
And  briefly  of  his  corps  performed  each  motion: 

Maneuvers  that  for  death's  platoon  are  meant, 

A  kind  of  make  ready  and  present, 
Before  the  fell  discharge  of  pill  and  potion. 

At  length  the  patient's  wife  he  thus  addressed: 
"Madam,  your  husband's  danger's  great; 
And  (what  will  never  his  complaint  abate) 
The  man's  been  eating  oysters,  I  perceive." 
"Dear!  you're  a  witch,  I  verily  believe," 

Madam  replied,  and  to  the  truth  confessed. 

Skill  so  prodigious  Bobby,  too,  admired; 

And  home  returning,  of  the  sage  inquired 
How  these  same  oysters  came  into  his  head; 

"Psha!  my  dear  Bob,  the  thing  was  plain; 

Sure  that  can  ne'er  distress  thy  brain; 
I  saw  the  shells  lie  underneath  the  bed!" 

So  wise  by  such  a  lesson  grown, 

Next  day  Bob  ventured  forth  alone, 
And  to  the  self-same  suflf'rer  paid  his  court: 

But  soon,  with  haste  and  wonder  out  of  breath, 

Returned  the  stripling  minister  of  death, 
And  to  his  master  made  this  dread  report. 


400  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

"Why  sir,  we  ne'er  can  keep  that  patient  under; 

Mercy !  such  a  inaw  1  never  came  across ! 
The  fellow  must  be  dying,  and  no  wonder, 

For — if  he  has  not  eat  a  horse!" 

"A  horse!"  the  elder  man  of  physic  cried, 

As  if  he  meant  his  pupil  to  deride; 

"How  came  so  wild  a  notion  in  your  head?" 

"How!  think  not  in  my  duty  I  was  idle; 
Like  you,  I  took  a  peep  beneath  the  bed, 

And  there  I  saw — a  saddle  and  a  bridle!" 


CCXXXIV.— PLEA  FOR  IRELAND. 

THIS  is  an  appeal  to  England  to  restore  to  Ireland  some  of  her 
privileges.  The  "gracious  predilection"  was  the  favor  of  the  king 
which  they  had  been  encouraged  to  hope. 

IRELAND,  with  her  imperial  crown,  now  stands  before 
you.  You  have  taken  her  parliament  from  her,  and  she 
appears  in  her  own  person,  at  your  bar.  Will  you  dismiss 
a  kingdom  without  a  hearing?  Is  this  your  answer  to  her 
zeal,  to  her  faith,  to  the  blood  that  has  so  profusely  graced 
your  march  to  victory ;  to  the  treasures  that  have  decked 
your  strength  in  peace?  Is  her  name  nothing?  her  fate 
indifferent?  Are  her  contributions  insignificant:  her  six 
millions  revenue,  her  ten  millions  trade,  her  two  millions 
absentee,  her  four  millions  loan?  Is  such  a  country  not 
worth  a  hearing? 

Will  you,  can  you  dismiss  her  abruptly  from  your  bar? 
You  can  not  do  it.  The  instinct  of  England  is  against  it. 
We  may  be  outnumbered  now  and  again.  But  in  calcula- 
ting the  amount  of  the  real  sentiments  of  the  people,  the 
ciphers,  that  swell  the  evanescent  majorities  of  an  evanes- 
cent minister,  go  for  nothing. 

Can  Ireland  forget  the  memorable  era  of  1788?  Can 
others  forget  the  munificent  hospitality  with  which  she  then 
freely  gave  to  her  chosen  hope  all  that  she  had  to  give? 
Can  Ireland  forget  the  spontaneous  and  glowing  cordiality 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  407 

with  which  her  favors  were  then  received  ?  Never  !  Never! 
Irishmen  grew  justly  proud  in  the  consciousness  of  being 
subjects  of  a  gracious  predilection  ;  a  predilection  that  re- 
quired no  apology,  and  called  for  no  renunciation  ;  a  pre- 
dilection that  did  equal  honor  to  him  who  felt  it,  and  to 
those  who  were  the  objects  of  it. 

It  laid  the  grounds  of  a  great  and  fervent  hope.  All  a 
nation's  wishes  crowded  to  a  point,  and  looked  forward 
to  one  event,  as  the  great  coming,  at  which  every  wound 
was  to  be  healed,  every  tear  to  be  wiped  away.  The  hope 
of  that  hour  beamed  with  a  cheering  warmth  and  a  seduc- 
tive brilliancy. 

Ireland  followed  it  with  all  her  heart;  a  leading  light 
through  the  wilderness,  and  brighter  in  its  gloom.  She 
followed  it  over  a  wide  and  barren  waste.  It  has  charmed 
her  through  the  desert.  And  now,  that  it  has  led  her  to 
the  confines  of  light  and  darkness ;  now,  that  she  is  on  the 
borders  of  the  promised  land ;  is  the  prospect  to  be  sud- 
denly obscured,  and  the  fair  vision  of  princely  faith  to  vanish 
forever?  I  will  not  believe  it.  I  require  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment to  vouch  its  credibility.  Nay,  more,  I  demand  a 
miracle  to  convince  me  that  it  is  possible ! 

FROM  GRATTAN. 


CCXXXV.— WRONGS  OF  IRELAND. 

THIS  is  an  appeal  to  England  to  redress  the  wrongs  of  Ireland. 

You  traverse  the  ocean  to  emancipate  the  African.  You 
cross  the  line  to  convert  the  Hindoo.  You  hur,l  your  thun- 
der against  the  savage  Algerine.  But  your  own  brethren 
at  home,  who  speak  the  same  tongue,  acknowledge  the  same 
king,  and  kneel  to  the  same  God,  can  not  get  one  visit  from 
your  itinerant  humanity!  Oh,  such  a  system  is  almost  too 
abominable  for  a  name.  It  is  a  monster  of  impiety,  im- 
policy, ingratitude,  and  injustice!  You  complain  of  the 
violence  of  the  Irish.  Can  you  wonder  they  are  violent? 
It  is  the  consequence  of  your  own  infliction. 


408  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

The  flesh  will  quiver,  where  the  pincers  tear, 
The  blood  will  follow,  where  the  knife  is  driven." 

Your  friendship  has  been  to  the  Irishman  worse  than 
hostility.  He  feels  its  embrace  but  by  the  pressure  of  his 
fetters !  I  am  only  amazed  he  is  not  more  violent.  He  fills 
your  exchequer,  he  fights  your  battles,  he  feeds  your  clergy 
from  whom  he  derives  no  benefit,  he  shares  your  burdens, 
he  shares  your  perils,  he  shares  everything  except  your  pri- 
vileges. Can  you  wonder  lie  is  violent  f  No  matter  what  his 
merit,  no  matter  what  his  claims,  no  matter  what  his  ser- 
vices. He  sees  himself  a  nominal  subject,  and  a  real  slave; 
and  his  children,  the  heirs,  perhaps  of  his  toils,  perhaps  of 
his  talents,  certainly  of  his  disqualifications.  Can  you  won- 
der he  is  violent  f 

He  sees  every  pretended  obstacle  to  his  emancipation 
vanished ;  Catholic  Europe  your  ally,  the  Bourbon  on  the 
throne,  the  emperor  a  captive,  the  pope  a  friend ;  the  as- 
persions on  his  faith  disproved  by  his  allegiance  to  you 
against,  alternately,  every  potentate  in  Christendom,  and  he 
feels  himself  branded  with  hereditary  degradation.  Can 
you  wonder ,  then,  that  he  is  violent? 

He  petitioned  humbly:  his  tamencss  was  construed  into 
a  proof  of  apathy.  He  petitioned  boldly;  his  remonstrance 
was  considered  as  an  impudent  audacity.  He  petitioned 
in  peace ;  he  was  told  it  was  not  the  time.  He  petitioned  in 
war  ;  he  was  told  it  was  not  the  time.  A  strange  interval, 
a  prodigy  in  politics,  a  pause  between  peace  and  war,  which 
appeared  to  be  just  made  for  him,  arose.  I  allude  to  the 
period  between  the  retreat  of  Louis  and  the  restoration  of 
Bonaparte.  He  petitioned  then,  and  was  told  it  was  not  the 
time. 

Oh,  shame!  shame!  shame!  I  hope  he  will  petition  no 
more  to  a  parliament  so  equivocating.  However,  I  am  not 
sorry  they  did  so  equivocate,  because  I  think  they  have  sug- 
gested one  common  remedy  for  the  grievances  of  both  coun- 
tries, and  that  remedy  is,  a  REFORM  OF  THAT  PARLIAMENT. 

FROM  PHILLIPS. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  409 


CCXXXVI.— DEFENSE  OF  IRISH  CHARACTER. 

IT  has  been  said,  (and  when  we  were  to  be  calumniated, 
what  has  not  been  said?)  that  Irishmen  are  neither  fit  for 
freedom  nor  grateful  for  favors.  In  the  first  place,  I  deny 
that  to  be  a  favor  which  is  a  right.  And  in  the  next  place, 
I  utterly  deny  that  a  system  of  conciliation  has  ever  been 
adopted  with  respect  to  Ireland.  Try  them,  and,  my  life 
on  it,  they  will  be  found  grateful. 

I  think  I  know  my  countrymen.  They  can  not  help  being 
grateful  for  a  benefit.  There  is  no  country  on  the  earth, 
where  one  would  be  conferred  with  more  characteristic 
benevolence.  They  are,  emphatically,  the  school-boys  of 
the  heart;  a  people  of  sympathy.  Their  acts  spring  in- 
stinctively from  their  passions;  by  nature  ardent,  by  in- 
stinct brave,  by  inheritance  generous.  The  children  of 
impulse,  they  can  not  avoid  their  virtues ;  and  to  be  other 
than  noble,  they  must  not  only  be  unnatural  but  unna- 
tional. 

Put  my  panegyric  to  the  test.  Enter  the  hovel  of  the 
Irish  peasant.  I  do  not  say  you  will  find  the  frugality  of 
the  Scotch,  the  comfort  of  the  English,  or  the  fantastic 
decorations  of  the  French  cottager.  But  I  do  say,  within 
those  wretched  bazaars  of  mud  and  misery,  you  will  find 
sensibility  the  most  affecting,  politeness  the  most  natural, 
hospitality  the  most  grateful,  merit  the  most  unconscious. 
Their  look  is  eloquence,  their  smile  is  love,  their  retort  is 
wit,  their  remark  is  wisdom  ;  not  a  wisdom,  borrowed  from 
the  dead,  but  that  with  which  nature  herself  has  inspired 
them ;  an  acute  observance  of  the  passing  scene,  and  a 
deep  insight  into  the  motives  of  its  agent. 

Try  to  deceive  them,  and  see  with  what  shrewdness  they 
will  detect.  Try  to  outwit  them,  and  see  with  what  humor 
they  will  elude.  Attack  them  with  argument,  and  you  will 
stand  amazed  at  the  strength  of  their  expression,  the  ra- 
pidity of  their  ideas,  and  the  energy  of  their  gesture.  In 
short,  God  seems  to  have  formed  our  country  like  our  peo- 
ple. He  has  thrown  round  the  one  its  wild,  magnificent, 
NEW  EC.  S.— 35 


410  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

decorated  rudeness.  He  has  infused  into  the  other  the 
simplicity  of  genius  and  the  seeds  of  virtue.  He  says 
audibly  to  us,  "  Give  them  cultivation." 

FROM  PHILLIPS. 


CCXXXVII— IRISH  COURTESY. 

Stranger.  I  HAVE  lost  my  way,  good  friend.  Can  you 
assist  me  in  finding  it? 

O'Callaghan.  Assist  you  in  finding  it,  sir?  Ay,  by  my 
faith  and  troth,  and  that  I  will,  if  it  was  to  the  world's  end, 
and  further  too. 

Str.  I  wish  to  return  by  the  shortest  route  to  the  Black 
Rock. 

O'CaL  Indade,  and  you  will,  so  plase  your  honor's 
honor :  and  O'Callaghan's  own  self  will  show  you  the  way, 
and  then  you  can't  miss  it,  you  know. 

Sir.  I  would  not  give  you  so  much  trouble,  Mr.  O'Cal- 
laghan. 

O'Cal.  It  is  never  a  trouble,  so  plaze  your  honor,  for 
an  Irishman  to  do  his  duty.  (Bowing.*) 

Sir.    Whither  do  you  travel,. friend? 

O'Cal.  To  Dublin,  so  plaze  your  honor.  Sure  all  the 
world  knows  that  Judy  O'Flannagan  will  be  married  to- 
morrow, God  willing,  to  Pat  Ryan;  and  Pat,  you  know,  is 
my  own  foster-brother :  because  why,  we  had  but  one  nurse 
between  us,  and  that  was  my  own  mother.  But  she  died 
one  day;  the  Lord  rest  her  sweet  soul!  and  left  me  an  or- 
phan, for  my  father  married  again,  and  his  new  wife  was 
the  divil's  own  child,  and  did  nothing  but  bate  me  from 
morning  till  night.  Och,  why  did  I  not  die  before  I  was 
born  to  see  that  day!  For  the  woman's  heart  was  as  cold 
as  a  hailstone. 

Sir.  But  what  reason  could  she  have  for  treating  you  so 
unmercifully,  Mr.  O'Callaghan  ? 

0'  Cal.  Ah,  your  honor,  and  sure  enough  there  are  always 
reasons  as  plenty  as  pratees  for  being  hard-hearted.  And 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  411 

I  was  no  bigger  than  a  dumpling  at  the  time,  so  I  could 
not  help  myself,  and  my  father  did  not  care  to  help  me, 
and  so  I  hopped  the  twig,  and  parted  old  Nick's  darling. 
Och,  may  the  divil  find  her  wherever  she  goes.  But  here 
I  am  alive  and  lapeing,  and  going  to  see  Pat  married;  and 
faith,  to  do  him  justice,  he's  as  honest  a  lad  as  any  within 
ten  miles  of  us,  and  no  disparagement  neither;  and  I  love 
Pat,  and  I  love  all  his  family ;  ay,  by  my  shoul  do  I, 
every  mother's  skin  of  them;  and  by  the  same  token,  I 
have  traveled  many  a  long  mile  to  be  present  at  his  wed- 
ding. 

Str.  Your  miles  in  Ireland  are  much  longer  than  ours, 
I  believe. 

O'Cal.  Indade,  and  you  may  believe  that,  your  honor, 
because  why,  St.  Patrick  measured  them  in  his  coach,  you 
know.  Och,  by  the  powers!  the  time  has  been  ;  but,  'tis  no 
matter,  not  a  single  copper,  at  all,  at  all,  now  belongs  to  the 
family ;  but  as  I  was  saying,  the  day  has  been,  ay,  by  my 
troth,  and  the  night  too,  when  the  O'Callaghan's,  good  luck 
to  them,  held  their  heads  up  as  high  as  the  best.  And 
though  I  have  not  a  rod  of  land  belonging  to  me  but  what 
I  hire,  I  love  my  country,  and  would  halve  my  last  pratee 
with  any  poor  creature  that  has  none. 

Str.  Pray,  how  does  the  bride  appear,  Mr.  O'Callaghan  ? 

O'CaL  Och,  by  my  shoul,  your  honor,  she's  a  nate  arti- 
cle. And  then  she  will  be  rigged  out  as  gay  as  a  lark  and 
as  fine  as  a  peacock;  because  why,  she  has  a  great  lady  for 
her  godmother,  long  life  and  success  to  her,  who  has  given 
Judy  two  milch  cows,  and  five  pounds  in  hard  money;  and 
Pat  has  taken  as  dacent  apartments  as  any  in  Dublin ;  a 
nate  comely  parlor  as  you'd  wish  to  see,  just  six  feet 
under  ground,  with  a  nice  beautiful  ladder  to  go  down ; 
and  all  so  complate  and  gentale;  and  comfortable,  as  a 
body  may  say. 

Str.  Nothing  like  comfort,  Mr.  O'Callaghan. 

O1  Cal.  Faith,  and  you  may  say  that,  your  honor.  (Rub- 
bing his  hands.)  Comfort  is  comfort,  says  I  to  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan, when  we  were  all  seated  so  cleverly  around  a  great 
big  turf  fire,  as  merry  as  grigs,  with  the  dear  little 


412  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

grunters  snoring  so  swately  in  the  corner,  defying  wind 
and  weather,  with  a  dry  thatch,  and  a  sound  conscience  to 
go  to  sleep  upon. 

Str.    A  good  conscience  makes  a  soft  pillow. 

O'Cal.  Och,  jewel,  sure  it  is  not  the  best  beds  that  make 
the  best  slapers.  For  there's  Kathleen  and  myself  can 
sleep  like  two  great  big  tops,  and  our  bed  is  none  of  the 
softest;  because  why,  we  slape  on  the  ground,  and  have  no 
bed,  at  all,  at  all. 

Sir.  It  is  a  pity,  my  honest  fellow,  that  you  should  ever 
want  one.  There — (giving  him  a  guinea),  good-by,  Mr. 
O'Callaghan. 

O'Cal.  I'll  drink  your  honor's  health,  that  I  will;  and 
may  God  bless  you  and  yours,  as  long  as  grass  grows  and 
water  runs. 


CCXXXVIIL— REDMOND  O'NEALE. 

IN  Scott's  "  Rokeby"  the  Knight  of  Rokeby  is  supposed  to  have 
been  engaged  as  an  English  officer  in  quelling  an  Irish  rebellion  led 
by  O'Neale,  a  provincial  Irish  king.  He  fell,  however,  into  the  hands 
of  O'Neale,  by  whom  he  was  treated  with  generosity  and  hospitality, 
and  sent  home  safe.  In  the  following  extract,  O'Neale,  having,  many 
years  after,  been  entirely  subdued,  and  obliged  to  flee,  sends  his 
grandson  Redmond  to  his  former  captive,  who  receives  and  educates 
him  as  his  own  child. 

LOUTED  ;  bowed  in  an  awkward,  clownish  way. 
GRETA,  a  Scotch  river. 

YEARS  sped  away.     On  Rokeby' s  head 
Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed; 
Calm  he  enjoyed,  by  Greta's  wave, 
The  peace  which  James  the  peaceful  gave. 

The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  killed, 
In  Rokeby-hall  the  cups  were  filled, 
And,  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 
The  knight,  in  hospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate; 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  413 

And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid, 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  prayed. 

The  porter  answered  to  the  call, 
And  instant  rushed  into  the  hall 
A  man,  whose  aspect  and  attire 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 
His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread 
Around  his  bare  and  matted  head; 
A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore, 
Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stained  with  gore. 

He  clasped  a  burden  to  his  heart, 
And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart, 
The  snow  from  hair  and  beard  he  shook, 
And  round  him  gazed  with  wildered  look; 
Then  up  the  hall,  with  staggering  pace, 
He  hastened  by  the  blaze  to  place, 
Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 
His  load,  a  boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Rokeby,  next,  he  louted  low, 
Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show, 
With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone, 
Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne. 

"Sir  Richard,  lord  of  Rokeby,  hear! 

Turlough  O'Neale  salutes  thee  dear; 

He  graces  thee,  and  to  thy  care 

Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 

He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 

For  Turlough's  days  of  joy  are  done; 

And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land, 

And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand. 

To  bind  the  duty  on  thy  soul, 

He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin's  bowl ! 

If  any  wrong  the  young  O'Neale, 

He  bids  thee  think  of  Erin's  steel! 

Now  is  my  master's  message  by, 

And  Ferraught  will  contented  die." 

His  look  grew  fixed,  his  cheek  grew  pale, 
He  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale; 
For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 
A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 


414  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Vain  was  all  aid ;  in  terror  wild, 

And  sorrow,  screamed  the  orphan  child. 

Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes, 
And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries. 
All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain, 
He  blest,  and  blest  him  o'er  again! 
And  kissed  the  little  hands  outspread, 
And  kissed  and  crossed  the  infant  head, 
And,  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase, 
Prayed  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days; 
Then  all  his  strength  together  drew, 
The  charge  to  Rokeby  to  renew. 
When  half  was  faltered  from  his  breast, 
And  half  by  dying  signs  expressed, 
"Bless  the  O'Neale !"  he  faintly  said, 
And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

'Twas  long  ere  soothing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  child  to  end  the  tale  : 
And  then  he  said,  that  from  his  home 
His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam. 
'Twas  from  his  broken  phrase  descried, 
His  foster-father  was  his  guide, 
Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  bore 
Letters,  and  gifts  a  goodly  store, 
But  ruffians  met  them  in  the  wood. 
Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood, 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpowered  at  length, 
And  stripped  of  all,  his  failing  strength 
Just  bore  him  here. 

FROM  SCOTT. 


CCXXXIX.— SCOTLAND. 

SOLWAY;  a  bay  on  the  southern  boundary  of  Scotland. 
LOCH  KATRINE;  a  lake  in  the  north. 

SCOTLAND!  There  is  magic  in  the  sound.  Statesmen, 
scholars,  divines,  heroes,  and  poets'!  do  you  want  exem- 
plars worthy  of  study  and  imitation?  Where  will  you 
find  them  brighter  than  in  Scotland  ?  Where  can  you 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  415 

find  them  purer  than  in  Scotland?  Here  no  Solon,  in- 
dulging imagination,  has  pictured  the  perfectibility  of  man. 
No  Lycurgus,  viewing  him  through  the  medium  of  human 
frailty  alone,  has  left  for  his  government  an  iron  code 
graven  on  eternal  adamant.  No  Plato,  dreaming  in  the 
luxurious  gardens  of  the  Academy,  has  fancied  what  he 
should  be,  and  bequeathed  a  republic  of  love.  But  sages, 
knowing  their  weakness,  have  appealed  to  his  understand- 
ing, cherished  his  virtues,  and  chastised  his  vices. 

Friends  of  learning  !  would  you  do  homage  at  the  shrine 
of  literature  ?  Would  you  visit  her  clearest  founts  ?  Go 
to  Scotland.  Are  you  philosophers,  seeking  to  explore  the 
hidden  mysteries  of  mind  ?  Bend  to  the  genius  of  Stew- 
art !  Student,  merchant,  or  mechanic !  do  you  seek  use- 
fulness? Consult  the  pages  of  Black  and  of  Adam  Smith ! 
Grave  barrister !  would  you  know  the  law  ;  the  true,  the 
sole  expression  of  the  people's  will?  There  stands  the 
mighty  Mansfield ! 

Servants  of  Him,  whose  name  is  above  every  other 
name,  and  not  to  be  mentioned !  recur  to  days  that  are 
past;  to  days  that  can  never  be'  blotted  from  the  history 
of  the  church.  Visit  the  mountains  of  Scotland:  contem- 
plate the  stern  Cameronian,  the  rigid  covenanter,  the  en- 
during puritan.  Follow  them  to  their  burrows  beneath 
the  earth  ;  to  their  dark,  bleak  caverns  in  the  rocks.  See 
them  hunted  like  beasts  of  prey.  See  them  emaciated, 
worn  with  disease,  clung  with  famine ;  yet  laboring  with 
supernatural  zeal  in  feeding  the  hungry  with  that  bread 
which  gives  life  forevermore.  Go  view  them,  and  when 
you  preach  faith,  hope,  charity,  fortitude,  and  long- suffer- 
ing, forget  them  not ;  the  meek,  the  bold,  the  patient,  gal- 
lant puritans  of  Scotland. 

Land  of  the  mountain,  the  torrent,  and  dale !  Do  we 
look  for  high  examples  of  noble  daring  ?  Where  shall  we 
find  them  brighter  than  in  Scotland?  From  the  "bonny 
highland  heather  "  of  her  lofty  summits,  to  the  modest  lily 
of  the  vale,  not  a  flower  but  has  blushed  with  patriot 
blood.  From  the  proud  foaming  crest  of  Solway,  to  the 
calm  polished  breast  of  Loch  Katrine,  not  a  river  or  lake 


416  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

but  has  swelled  with  the  life-tide  of  freemen  !  Would  you 
witness  greatness?  Contemplate  a  Wallace  and  a  Bruce. 
They  fought  not  for  honors,  for  party,  for  conquest. 
'Twas  for  their  country  and  their  country's  good,  religion, 
liberty,  and  law. 

Would  you  ask  for  chivalry  ?  that  high  and  delicate 
sense  of  honor,  which  deems  a  stain  upon  one's  country  as 
individual  disgrace:  that  moral  courage  which  measures 
danger,  and  meets  it  against  known  odds  :  that  patriot 
valor,  which  would  rather  repose  on  a  death-bed  of  laurels, 
than  nourish  in  wealth  and  power  under  the  night-shade 
of  depotism?  Citizen  soldier!  turn  to  Lochiel ;  "proud 
bird  of  the  mountain!"  Though  pierced  with  the  usurper's 
arrow,  his  plumage  still  shines  through  the  cloud  of  op- 
pression, lighting  to  honor  all  who  nobly  dare  to  "do  or 
die." 


CCXL.— THE  LAST  MINSTREL.— No.  I. 

IN  former  times,  before  the  art  of  printing  was  invented,  and  when 
there  were  few  educated  men,  there  was  in  England  and  Scotland 
a  class  of  men  of  genius  and  education,  who  were  called  Minstrels. 
They  spent  their  lives  in  wandering  from  castle  to  castle,  and  singing, 
with  the  harp  as  accompaniment,  such  poetic  descriptions  of  romantic 
scenes  and  historic  legends,  as  suited  the  taste  of  the  times.  Walter 
Scott,  in  his  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  introduces  one  of  the  last 
of  this  class,  in  poetry  worthy  of  the  theme,  from  which  the  following 
extract  is  taken. 

SOOTH;  truth.  YARROW;  a  Scottish  stream.  NEWARK;  the  castle 
at  which  the  Duchess  entertained  the  Minstrel.  This  may  be  spoken 
by  itself  or  in  connection  with  the  succeeding  exercise. 

THE  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old ; 
His  withered  cheek,  and  tresses  gray, 
Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day; 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 
The  last  of  all  the  bards  was  he, 
Who  sung  of  border  chivalry. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  417 

For,  well-a-day !  their  date  was  fled, 
His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead, 
And  he,  neglected  and  opprest, 
Wished  to  be  with  them  and  at  rest. 

No  more,  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 
He  caroled  light  as  lark  at  morn; 
No  longer  courted  and  caressed, 
High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 
He  poured  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 
The  unpremeditated  lay. 
A  wandering  harper,  scorned  and  poor, 
He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door; 
And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 
The  harp,  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  passed,  where  Newark's  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birchen  bower: 
The  minstrel  gazed  with  wishful  eye : 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigh. 
With  hesitating  step  at  last, 
The  embattled  portal-arch  he  passed, 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  rolled  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess  marked  his  weary  pace, 
His  timid  mien,  and  reverend  face, 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell, 
That  they  should  tend  the  old  man  well; 
For  she  had  known  adversity, 
Though  born  in  such  a  high  degree. 

When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied, 

And  the  old  man  was  gratified, 

Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride: 

And,  would  the  noble  Duchess  deign 

To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain, 

Though  stiff  his  hand,  his  voice  though  weak, 

He  thought  e'en  yet,  the  sooth  to  speak, 

That,  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 

He  would  make  music  to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtained; 
The  aged  Minstrel  audience  gained. 


418  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

But  when  he  reached  the  room  of  state, 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 
Perchance  he  wished  his  boon  denied: 
For  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried, 
His  trembling  hand  had  lost  the  ease, 
Which  marks  security  to  please : 
And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain, 
Came  wildering  o'er  his  aged  brain; 
He  tried  to  tune  his  harp  in  vain. 
The  pitying  Duehess  praised  its  chime, 
And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  him  time, 
Till  every  string's  according  glee 
Was  blended  into  harmony. 

And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 

He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain, 

He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 

It  was  not  framed  for  village  churls, 

But  for  high  dames  and  mighty  earls. 

And  much  he  wished,  yet  feared  to  try 

The  long-forgotten  melody. 

Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  strayed, 

And  an  uncertain  warbling  made, 

And  oft  he  shook  his  hoary  head. 

But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 

The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled; 

And  lighted  up  his  faded  eye, 

With  all  a  poet's  ecstasy! 

In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong, 
He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along: 
The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 
His  toils,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot: 
Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost, 
In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost; 
Each  blank,  in  faithless  memory  void, 
The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied ; 
And,  while  his  harp  responsive  rung, 
With  eloquence  the  Minstrel  sung. 

FROM  SCOTT. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  419 


CCXLL— THE  LAST  MINSTREL.— No.  II. 

IN  the  preceding  description,  the  Minstrel  is  introduced,  and  the 
story  which  he  is  represented  to  have  sung,  form  Scott's  Poem.  The 
following  lines  are  added  at  the  close,  describing  the  manner  in 
which  the  benevolent  Duchess  rewards  the  old  man. 

HUSHED  is  the  harp !  the  Minstrel  gone ! 

And  did  he  wander  forth  alone? 

Alone,  in  indigence  and  age, 

To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage  ? 

No.     Close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower, 

Arose  the  Minstrel's  lowly  bower; 

A  simple  hut ;  but  there  was  seen 

The  little  garden  hedged  with  green, 

The  cheerful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean. 

There,  sheltered  wanderers,  by  the  blaze, 

Oft  heard  the  tale  of  other  days ; 

For  much  he  loved  to  ope  his  door 

And  give  the  aid  he  begged  before. 

So  passed  the  winter's  day.     But  still, 
When  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhill, 
And  July's  eve,  with  balmy  breath, 
Waved  the  blue-bells  on  Newark  heath ; 
When  throstles  sung  in  Hare-head  shaw, 
And  corn  was  green  on  Carterhaugh, 
And  flourished,  broad,  Blacandro's  oak, 
The  aged  Harper's  soul  awoke ! 

Then  would  he  sing  achievements  high, 
And  circumstance  of  chivalry, 
Till  the  rapt  traveler  would  stay, 
Forgetful  of  the  closing  day ; 
And  noble  youths,  the  strain  to  hear, 
Forsook  the  hunting  of  the  deer ; 
And  Yarrow,  as  he  rolled  along, 
Bore  burden  to  the  Minstrel's  song. 
FROM  SCOTT. 


420  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER, 


CCXLII— THE  WAR  GATHERING. 

The  following  animated  and  graphic  extract  from  Scott's  "  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  illustrates  one  of  the  customs  of  the  feudal  days  of  Scot- 
land. Roderick,  chief  of  the  Clan  Alpine,  being  informed  of  an  in- 
tended attack,  summons  his  followers  by  a  messenger  who  warns  all 
on  his  route  to  a  certain  point,  and  then  transfers  his  message  and 
symbol  to  another.  Thus  the  whole  region  is  speedily  alarmed  and 
soldiers  gathered. 

CROSLET;  a  small  cross:  the  symbol  borne. 
HENCHMAN;  a  servant.     Scaur;  a  steep  place. 

THEN  Roderick,  with  impatient  look, 
From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took: 
"Speed,  Malise,  speed!"  he  said,  and  gave 
The  Croslet  to  his  hench-man  brave. 
"  The  muster-place  be  Lanrick  mead ; 
Instant  the  time;  speed,  Malise,  speed!" 

Like  heath-bird,  when  the  hawks  pursue, 

A  barge  across  Loch-Katrine  flew. 

High  stood  the  hench-man  on  the  prow: 

So  rapidly  the  barge-men  row, 

The  bubbles,  where  they  launched  the  boat, 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat, 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still, 

When  it  had  neared  the  mainland  hill; 

And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide, 

When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 

The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  dun  deer's  hide 
On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied. 
Speed,  Malise,  speed !  such  cause  of  haste 
Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 
Bend  'gainst  the  steepy  hill  thy  breast; 
Burst  down,  like  torrent,  from  its  crest; 
With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 
The  trembling  bog  and  false  morass; 
Across  the  brook  like  roe-buck  bound, 
And  thread  the  brake  like  questing  hound. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  421 

The  crag  is  high,  the  scaur  is  deep, 
Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desperate  leap : 
Parched  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow, 
Yet  by  the  fountain  pause  not  now ; 
Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear, 
Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career! 
The  wounded  hind  thou  track' st  not  now, 
Pursuest  not  maid  through  greenwood  bough, 
Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flying  pace 
With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race; 
But  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed, 
Are  in  thy  course:  speed,  Malise,  speed! 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies, 
In  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise; 
From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown, 
They  poured  each  hardy  tenant  down. 
Nor  slacked  the  messenger  his  pace; 
He  showed  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 
And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind, 
Left  clamor  and  surprise  behind. 

The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand, 
The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand; 
With  chang-ed  cheer,  the  mower  blithe 
Left  in  the  half-cut  swath  his  scythe ; 
The  herds  without  a  keeper  strayed, 
The  plow  was  in  mid-furrow  staid, 
The  falc'ner  tossed  his  hawk  away, 
The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay; 
Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms, 
Each  son  of  Alpine  rushed  to  arms; 
So  swept  the  tumult  and  affray 
Along  the  margin  of  Achray. 
Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  lake  is  past, 
Duncraggan's  huts  appear  at  last, 
And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen, 
Half  hidden,  in  the  copse  so  green ; 
There  may'st  thou  rest,  thy  labor  done, 
Their  lord  shall  speed  the  signal  on. 
FROM  SCOTT. 


422  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXLIIL— THE  BOW. 

THERE  was  heard  the  sound  of  a  coming  foe, 
There  was  sent  through  Britain  a  bended  bow: 
And  a  voice  was  poured  on  the  free  winds  far, 
As  the  land  rose  up  at  the  sound  of  war: 

"Heard  ye  not  the  battle  horn? 

Keaper!  leave  thy  golden  corn! 

Leave  it  for  the  birds  of  heaven; 

Swords  must  flash,  and  spears  be  riven: 

Leave  it  for  the  winds  to  shed; 

Arm!  ere  Britain's  turf  grows  red!" 
And  the  reaper  armed,  like  a  freeman's  son; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"Hunter!  leave  the  mountain  chase! 

Take  the  falchion  from  its  place! 

Let  the  wolf  go  free  to-day ; 

Leave  him  for  a  nobler  prey! 

Let  the  deer  ungalled  sweep  by; 

Arm  thee!  Britain's  foes  are  nigh!" 
And  the  hunter  armed,  ere  the  chase  was  done; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"  Chieftain !  quit  the  joyous  feast ! 
Stay  not  till  the  song  hath  ceased: 
Though  the  mead  be  foaming  bright, 
Though  the  fire  gives  ruddy  light, 
Leave  the  hearth  and  leave  the  hall ; 
Arm  thee!  Britain's  foes  must  fall!" 
And  the  chieftain  armed,  and  the  horn  was  blown 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"Prince!  thy  father's  deeds  are  told, 

In  the  bower  and  in  the  hold! 

Where  the  goat-herd's  lay  is  sung, 

Where  the  minstrel's  harp  is  strung! 

Foes  are  on  thy  native  sea, 

Give  our  bards  a  tale  of  thee!" 
And  the  prince  came  armed,  like  a  leader's  son; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  423 

"  Mother !  stay  thou  not  thy  boy ! 

He  must  learn  the  battle's  joy. 

Sister!  bring  the  sword  and  spear; 

Give  thy  brother  words  of  cheer ! 

Maiden !  bid  thy  lover  part ; 

Britain  calls  the  strong  in  heart!" 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on; 
And  the  bards  made  song  of  a  battle  won. 
FKOM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


CCXLIV.— SPEECH  ON  AMERICA. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  a  speech  delivered  in  parliament,  on  a  bill 
taking  away  the  right  of  trial  from  Boston,  and  requiring  the  accused 
to  be  sent  to  England. 

THIS  proposition  is  so  glaring ;  so  unprecedented  in  any 
former  proceedings  of  parliament ;  so  unwarranted  by  any 
delay,  denial,  or  provocation  of  justice,  in  America;  so  big 
with  misery  and  oppression  to  that  country,  and  with 
danger  to  this ;  that  the  first  blush  of  it  is  sufficient  to 
alarm  and  rouse  me  to  opposition.  It  is  proposed  to  stig- 
matize a  whole  people  as  persecutors  of  innocence,  and 
men  incapable  of  doing  justice.  Yet  you  have  not  a  sin- 
gle fact  on  which  to  ground  that  imputation! 

I  expected  the  noble  lord  would  support  this  motion,  by 
producing  instances  in  which  officers  of  government  in 
America  had  been  prosecuted  with  unremitting  vengeance, 
and  brought  to  cruel  and  dishonorable  deaths,  by  the  vio- 
lence and  injustice  of  American  juries.  But  he  has  not 
produced  one  such  instance;  and  I  will  tell  you  more,  sir, 
he  can  not  produce  one  !  The  instances  which  have  hap- 
pened are  directly  in  the  teeth  of  his  proposition.  Col. 
Preston  and  the  soldiers  who  shed  the  blood  of  the  people 
were  fairly  tried,  and  fully  acquitted.  It  was  an  American 
jury,  a  New  England  jury,  a  Boston  jury,  which  tried 
and  acquitted  them.  Col.  Preston  has,  under  his  hand, 
publicly  declared  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  very  town  in 
which  their  fellow-citizens  had  been  sacrificed,  were  his  ad- 
vocates and  defenders. 


424  MOGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Is  this  the  return  you  make  them?  Is  this  the  encour- 
agement you  give  them  to  persevere  in  so  laudable  a  spirit 
of  justice  and  moderation?  But  the  noble  lord  says,  "We 
must  now  show  the  Americans  that  we  will  no  longer  sit 
quiet  under  their  insults."  Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  this 
is  declamation,  unbecoming  the  character  and  place  of  him 
who  utters  it.  In  what  moment  have  you  been  quiet? 

Has  not  your  government,  for  many  years  past,  been  a 
series  of  irritating  and  offensive  measures,  without  policy, 
principle,  or  moderation  ?  Have  not  your  troops  and  your 
ships  made  a  vain  and  insulting  parade  in  their  streets  and 
in  their  harbors?  Have  you  not  stimulated  discontent  into 
disaffection,  and  are  you  not  now  goading  disaffection  into 
rebellion?  Can  you  expect  to  be  well  informed  when  you 
listen  only  to  partisans?  Can  you  expect  to  do  justice 
when  you  will  not  hear  the  accused? 

Let  the  banners  be  once  spread  in  America,  and  you  are 
an  undone  people.  You  are  urging  this  desperate,  this 
destructive  issue.  I  know  the  vast  superiority  of  your 
disciplined  troops  over  the  Provincials  ;  but  beware  how 
you  supply  the  want  of  discipline  by  desperation  !  What 
madness  is  it  that  prompts  you  to  attempt  obtaining  that 
by  force,  which  you  may  more  certainly  procure  by  requisi- 
tion ?  The  Americans  may  be  flattered  into  any  thing ; 
but,  they  are  too  much  like  yourselves  to  be  driven. 
Have  some  indulgence  for  your  own  likeness.  Respect 
their  sturdy  English  virtue.  Retract  your  odious  exertions 
of  authority,  and  remember  that  the  first  step  toward 
making  them  contribute  to  your  wants,  is  to  reconcile 
them  to  your  government.  FROM  BAKRB. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES,  425 


CCXLV.— AMERICAN  TAXATION. 

THE  Revolutionary  war  originated  in  the  claim  of  England  of  the 
right  to  tax  America,  without  her  own  consent.  Many  distinguished 
English  statesmen  sustained  America  in  her  resistance  to  this  prin- 
ciple. This  and  the  succeeding  are  extracts  from  a  speech  in  the 
English  parliament  on  this  subject. 

COULD  any  thing  be  a  subject  of  more  just  alarm  to 
America,  than  to  see  you  go  out  of  the  plain  high  road  of 
finance,  and  give  up  your  most  certain  revenues  and  your 
clearest  interests,  merely  for  the  sake  of  insulting  your 
colonies?  No  man  ever  doubted  that  the  commodity  of 
tea  could  bear  an  imposition  of  three-pence.  But  no  com- 
modity will  bear  three-pence,  or  will  bear  a  penny,  when 
the  general  feelings  of  men  are  irritated,  and  two  millions 
of  men  are  resolved  not  to  pay. 

The  feelings  of  the  colonies  were  formerly  the  feelings 
of  Great  Britain.  Theirs  were  formerly  the  feelings  of 
Mr.  Hampden,  when  called  upon  for  the  payment  of  twenty 
shillings.  Would  twenty  shillings  have  ruined  Mr.  Hamp- 
den's  fortune?  No!  but  the  payment  of  half  twenty  shil- 
lings, on  the  principle  it  was  demanded,  would  have  made 
him  a  slave!  It  is  the  weight  of  that  preamble,  of  which 
you  are  so  fond,  and  not  the  weight  of  the  duty,  that  the 
Americans  are  unable  and  unwilling  to  bear.  You  are, 
therefore,  at  this  moment,  in  the  awkward  situation  of 
fighting  for  a  phantom;  a  thing  that  wants,  not  only  a 
substance,  but  even  a  name;  for  a  thing  which  is  neither 
abstract  right,  nor  profitable  enjoyment. 

They  tell  you,  that  your  dignity  is  tied  to  it.  I  know 
not  how  it  happens,  but  this  dignity  of  yours  is  a  terrible 
incumbrance  to  you.  It  has  of  late  been  ever  at  war  with 
your  interest,  your  equity,  and  every  idea  of  your  policy. 
Show  the  thing  you  contend  for  to  be  reason,  show  it  to 
be  common  sense,  show  it  to  be  the  means  of  obtaining 
some  useful  end,  and  then  I  am  content  to  allow  it  what 
dignity  you  please.  But  what  dignity  is  derived  from 
NEW  EC.  S.— 36 


426  MCGTJFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

the  perseverance  in   absurdity,  is  more  than  I  ever  could 
discern  ! 

Let  us  embrace  some  system  or  other  before  we  end  this 
session.  Do  you  mean  to  tax  America,  and  to  draw  a  pro- 
ductive revenue  from  thence?  If  you  do,  speak  out: 
name,  fix,  ascertain  this  revenue ;  settle  its  quantity  ;  de- 
fine its  objects ;  provide  for  its  collection  ;  and  then  fight, 
when  you  have  something  to  fight  for.  If  you  murder, 
rob ;  if  you  kill,  take  possession  :  and  do  not  appear  in  the 
character  of  madmen,  as  well  as  assassins;  violent,  vindic- 
tive, bloody,  and  tyrannical,  without  an  object. 

FROM  BURKE. 


CCXL VI— ENGLAND'S  RIGHT  TO  TAX  AMERICA. 

OH!  inestimable  right!  Oh!  wonderful,  transcendent 
right,  the  assertion  of  which  has  cost  this  country  thirteen 
provinces,  six  islands,  one  hundred  thousand  lives,  and 
seventy  millions  of  money  !  Oh !  invaluable  right !  for 
the  sake  of  which  we  have  sacrificed  our  rank  among  na- 
tions, our  importance  abroad,  and  our  happiness  at  home ! 
Oh !  right  more  dear  to  us  than  our  existence,  which  has 
already  cost  us  so  much,  and  which  seems  likely  to  cost 
us  our  all. 

Infatuated  man  !  (fixing  his  eyes  on  the  minister ;)  misera- 
ble and  undone  country !  not  to  know  that  the  claim  of 
right,  without  the  power  of  enforcing  it,  is  nugatory  and 
idle.  We  have  a  right  to  tax  America,  the  noble  lord  tells 
us;  therefore  we  ought  to  tax  America.  This  is  the  pro- 
found logic  which  comprises  the  whole  chain  of  his  reason- 
ing. Not  inferior  to  this  was  the  wisdom  of  him  who 
resolved  to  shear  the  wolf !  What !  shear  a  wolf !  Have 
you  considered  the  resistance,  the  difficulty,  the  danger  of 
the  attempt?  No,  says  the  madman,  I  have  considered 
nothing  but  the  right.  Man  has  a  right  of  dominion  over 
the  beasts  of  the  forest;  and,  therefore,  I  will  shear  the 
wolf!  How  wonderful  that  a  nation  could  be  thus  de- 
luded ! 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  427 

\ 

But  the  noble  lord  deals  in  cheats  and  delusions.  They 
are  the  daily  traffic  of  his  invention.  He  will  continue  to 
play  off  his  cheats  on  this  house  so  long  as  he  thinks 
them  necessary  to  his  purpose,  and  so  long  as  he  has 
money  enough  at  command  to  bribe  gentlemen  to  pretend 
that  they  believe  him.  But  a  black  and  bitter  day  of 
reckoning  will  surely  come.  Whenever  that  day  comes,  T 
trust  I  shall  be  able,  by  a  parliamentary  impeachment,  to 
bring  upon  the  heads  of  the  authors  of  our  calamities  the 
punishment  they  deserve.  FROM  BURKE. 


CCXLVII.— SUPPOSED  SPEECH  OF  JAMES  OTIS  ON 
TAXATION. 

JAMES  OTIS  was  a  distinguished  citizen  of  Massachusetts,  who  died 
about  the  commencement  of  the  Revolutionary  war.  He  took  an  ac- 
tive part  in  the  discussions  which  prepared  the  way  for  that  war. 

ENGLAND  may  as  well  dam  up  the  waters  of  the  Nile 
with  bulrushes,  as  fetter  the  step  of  Freedom.  Arbitrary 
principles,  like  those  against  which  we  now  contend,  have 
cost  one  king  of  England  his  life,  another,  his  crown,  and 
they  may  yet  cost  a  third  his  most  flourishing  colonies. 
We  are  two  millions,  one-fifth  fighting  men.  We  are  bold 
and  vigorous,  and  we  call  no  man  master.  To  the  nation 
from  whom  we  are  proud  to  derive  our  origin,  we  ever  were, 
and  we  ever  will  be,  ready  to  yield  unforced  assistance. 
But  it  must  not,  and  it  never  can  be,  extorted. 

Some  have  sneeringly  asked,  "Are  the  Americans  too 
poor  to  pay  a  few  pounds  on  stamped  paper?"  No! 
America,  thank  God,  is  rich.  But  the  right  to  take  ten 
pounds  implies  the  right  to  take  a  thousand;  and  what 
must  be  the  wealth,  that  avarice,  aided  by  power,  can  not 
exhaust?  True,  the  specter  is  now  small;  but  the  shadow 
he  casts  before  him  is  huge  enough  to  darken  all  this  fair 
land.  Others,  in  sentimental  style,  talk  of  the  immense 
debt  of  gratitude  which  we  owe  to  England.  And  what  is 
the  amount  of  this  debt?  Why,  truly,  it  is  the  same  that 


428  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

the  young  lion  owes  to  the  dam,  which  has  brought  it  forth 
on  the  solitude  of  the  mountain,  or  left  It  amid  the  winds 
and  storms  of  the  desert. 

We  plunged  into  the  wave,  with  the  great  charter  of  free- 
dom in  our  teeth,  because  the  fagot  and  torch  were  behind 
us.  We  have  waked  this  new  world  from  its  savage  lethargy. 
Forests  have  been  prostrated  in  our  path.  Towns  and 
cities  have  grown  up  suddenly  as  the  flowers  of  the  tropics, 
and  the  fires  in  our  autumnal  woods  are  scarcely  more  rapid 
than  the  increase  of  our  wealth  and  population.  And  do 
•we  owe  all  this  to  the  kind  succor  of  the  mother  country? 
No!  we  owe  it  to  the  tyranny  that  drove  us  from  her,  to  the 
pelting  storms  which  invigorated  our  helpless  infancy. 

But  perhaps  others  will  say,  "We  ask  no  money  from 
your  gratitude ;  we  only  demand  that  you  should  pay  your 
own  expenses.  And  who,  I  pray,  is  to  judge  of  their  ne- 
cessity ?  Why,  the  king :  and,  with  all  due  reverence  to 
his  sacred  majesty,  he  understands  the  real  wants  of  his  dis- 
tant subjects  as  little  as  he  does  the  language  of  the  Choc- 
taws  !  Who  is  to  judge  concerning  the  frequency  of  these  de- 
mands ?  The  ministry.  Who  is  to  judge  whether  the  money 
is  properly  expended?  The  cabinet  behind  the  throne. 

In  every  instance,  those  who  take,  are  to  judge  for  those 
who  pay.  If  this  system  is  suffered  to  go  into  operation, 
we  shall  have  reason  to  esteem  it  a  great  privilege  that  rain 
and  dew  do  not  depend  upon  parliament;  otherwise  they 
would  soon  be  taxed  and  dried. 

But,  thanks  to  God,  there  is  freedom  enough  left  upon 
earth  to  resist  such  monstrous  injustice!  The  flame  of 
liberty  is  extinguished  in  Greece  and  Rome;  but  the  light 
of  its  glowing  embers  is  still  bright  and  strong  on  the 
shores  of  America.  Actuated  by  its  sacred  influence,  we 
will  resist  unto  death.  But  we  will  not  countenance  anarchy 
and  misrule.  The  wrongs  that  a  desperate  community 
have  heaped  upon  their  enemies  shall  be  amply  and  speedily 
repaired.  Still,  it  may  be  well  for  some  proud  men  to  re- 
member, that  a  fire  is  lighted  in  these  colonies,  which  one 
breath  of  their  king  may  kindle  into  such  fury,  that  the 
blood  of  all  England  can  not  extinguish  it ! 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  429 


CCXLVIIL—  THE  PIONEER. 

FAR  away  from  the  hillside,  the  lake  and  the  hamlet, 
The  rock  and  the  brook,  and  yon  meadow  so  gay ; 
From  the  footpath,  that  winds  by  the  side  of  the  streamlet, 

From  his  hut  and  the  grave  of  his  friend  far  away; 
lie  is  gone  where  the  footsteps  of  man  never  ventured, 
Where  the  glooms  of  the  wild  tangled  forest  are  centered, 
Where  no  beam  of  the  sun  or  the  sweet  moon  has  entered, 
No  bloodhound  has  roused  up  the  deer  with  his  bay. 

He  has  left  the  green  valley,  for  paths  where  the  bison 
Roams  through  the  prairies,  or  leaps  o'er  the  flood; 

Where  the  snake  in  the  swamp  sucks  the  deadliest  poison, 
And  the  cat  of  the  mountains  keeps  watch  for  its  food. 

But  the  leaf  shall  be  greener,  the  sky  shall  be  purer, 

The  eye  shall  be  clearer,  the  rifle  be  surer, 

And  stronger  the  arm  of  the  fearless  cndurer, 

That  trusts  naught  but  Heaven,  in  his  way  through  the  wood. 

Light  be  the  heart  of  the  poor  lonely  wanderer, 

Firm  be  his  step  through  each  wearisome  mile, 
Far  from  the  cruel  man,  far  from  the  plunderer, 
Far  from  the  track  of  the  mean  and  the  vile ; 
And  when  death,  with  the  last  of  its  terrors,  assails  him, 
And  all  but  the  last  throb  of  memory  fails  him, 
He'll  think  of  the  friend,  far  away,  that  bewails  him, 
And  light  up  the  cold  touch  of  death  with  a  smile. 

And  there  shall  the  dew  shed  its  sweetness  and  luster, 

There  for  his  pall  shall  the  oak  leaves  be  spread; 
The  sweetbriar  shall  bloom,  and  the  wild  grape  shall  cluster, 

And  o'er  him  the  leaves  of  the  ivy  be  shed. 
There  shall  they  mix  with  the  fern  and  the  heather, 
There  shall  the  young  eagle  shed  its  first  feather, 
The  wolf  and  his  wild  cubs  shall  lie  there  together, 
And  moan  o'er  the  spot  where  the  hunter  is  laid. 

FROM  BRAINARD. 


430  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

CCXLIX.— RODERIC  DHU. 

HOLY  ROOD  ;   the  king's  palace.     GAEL  ;  the  original  inhabitants  of 
Scotland,  who  had  been  subdued  by  the  English,  or  Saxons. 

CHARACTERS. — King    James   in   disguise,   and  Roderic.      The  latter  is 
sleeping  by  his  watch-fire,  when  King  James  enters. 

(Enter  King  James  in  a  warrior's  garb.) 

Roderic.  (  Grasping  his  sword  and  springing  on  his  feet. ) 
Thy  name  and  purpose,  Saxon?     Stand! 

James.  A  stranger. 

Rod.      What  dost  thou  require? 

James.  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 
My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 
The  gale  has  chilled  my  limbs  with  frost. 

Rod.      Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderic  ? 

James.  No. 

Rod.      Thou  durst  not  call  thyself  his  foe? 

James.  I  dare,  to  him  and  all  the  band, 
He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand. 

Rod.      Bold  words!     But,  though  the  beast  of  game 
The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim; 
Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 
Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 
Who  ever  cared  where,  how,  or  when 
The  prowling  fox  was  trapped  or  slain? 
Thus  treacherous  scouts, — yet  sure  they  lie, 
Who  say  thou  comest  a  secret  spy. 

James.  They  do!  they  do!     Come  Roderic  Dhu, 
And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 
And,  let  me  but  till  morning  rest, 
I'll  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest. 

Rod.      Enough,  enough.     Sit  down  and  share 
A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare. 
(  They  sit  down  and  continue  the  conversation. ) 

Rod.      Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderic  Dhu, 
A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true; 
Each  word  against  his  honor  spoke, 
Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke. 
It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, 
Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne; 
It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand, 
Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand; 
But  not  for  clan,  nor  kindred's  cause, 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  431 

Will  I  depart  from  honor's  laws. 

To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 

And  stranger  is  a  holy  name. 

Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way, 

Through  watch  and  ward  till  break  of  day, 

As  far  as  Coliantogle  ford; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword. 

James.  I  take  thy  courtesy, 
As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given. 

Rod.      Why  seek  these  wilds,  traversed  by  few, 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderic  Dhu? 

James.  Brave  man !  my  pass,  in  danger  tried, 
Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side. 
Yet  sooth  to  tell,  though  naught  I  dread, 
I  dreamed  not  now  to  claim  its  aid. 
When  here  but  three  days  since  I  came, 
Bewildered  in  pursuit  of  game, 
All  seemed  as  peaceful  and  as  still, 
As  the  mist,  slumbering  on  yon  hill. 
Thy  dangerous  chief  was  then  afar, 
Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war; 
Thus  said,  at  least  my  mountain  guide, 
Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied. 

Rod.      Yet,  why  a  second  venture  try? 

James.  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why  ? 
Perhaps  I  sought  to  drive  away 
The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day; 
Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 
A  knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide; 
A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  strayed, 
The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid ; 
Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 
The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone. 

Rod.      Thy  secret  keep.     I  urge  thee  not. 
But  stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came, 
Bewildered  in  the  mountain  game, 
Whence  the  bold  boast,  by  which  we  know 
Vich  Alpine's  vowed  and  mortal  foe? 

James.  Warrior,  but  yestermorn  I  knew 
Naught  of  thy  chieftain,  Eoderic  Dhu, 
Save  as  an  outlawed,  desperate  man, 
The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 


432  MOGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Who  in  the  regent's  court  and  sight, 
With  ruffian  dagger  stabbed  a  knight 
Yet  this  alone  should  from  his  part 
Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart. 

Rod.      (Frowning,  and  both  rising  hastily.') 
And  heard' st  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade? 
Heard' st  thou,  that  shameful  word  and  blow 
Brought  Roderic's  vengeance  on  his  foe  ? 
What  recked  the  chieftain,  if  he  stood 
On  highland  heath  or  Holy  Rood  ? 
He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 
Though  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven. 

James.  Still  it  was  outrage.     Yet,  'tis  true, 
Not  then  claimed  sovereignty  his  due. 
But  then  thy  chieftain's  robber  life, 
Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife. 
Wrenching  from  ruined  lowland  swain 
His  flocks  and  harvest  reared  in  vain; 
Methinks  a  soul,  like  thine,  should  scorn 
The  spoils  from  such  foul  conflict  borne. 

Rod.      Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 
I  marked  thee  send  delighted  eye; 
These  fertile  plains,  that  softened  vale, 
Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael 
The  Saxons  came  with  iron  hand, 
And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 
Where  dwell  we  now  ?     See  rudely  swell 
Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 
Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 
And  well  the  mountain  might  reply, 
"To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore, 
Belong  the  target  and  claymore! 
I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 
Your  own  good  blades  must  do  the  rest" 
Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  north, 
Think' st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth 
To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 
And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey? 
Ay,  by  my  soul !  while  on  yon  plain 
The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain; 
While  of  ten  thousand  herd  there  strays 
But  one  along  yon  river's  maze; 
The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 
Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  433 

Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderic  Dhu. 
James.  And  if  I  sought, 

Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought? 

What  deem  ye  of  my  path  waylaid, 

My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade? 
Rod.      As  a  reward  to  rashness  due. 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go; 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 

James.  Well,  let  it  pass ;  nor  will  I  now 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow, 

To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride. 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan  Alpine's  glen 

In  peace;  but,  when  I  come  again, 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 
As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 

For  love-lorn  swain  in  lady's  bower, 
Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 
As  I,  until  before  me  stand 
This  rebel  chieftain  and  his  band. 

Rod.      Have  then  thy  wish. 
(He  whistles,  and  soldiers  rush  in  on  all  sides.) 
How  sayest  thou  now? 
These  are  Clan  Alpine's  warriors  true; 
And,  Saxon,  I  am  Roderic  Dhu. 
(King  James  starts  lack  a  little,  then  draws  his  sword 

and  places  his  back  against  a  rock. ) 
James.  Come  one,  come  all!  this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base,  as  soon  as  I. 
(Roderic  waves  his  hand  and  the  soldiers  retire.) 

Rod.      Fear  not,  nay,  that  I  need  not  say, 
But  doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 
Thou  art  my  guest,  I  pledged  my  word 
As  far  as  Coliantogle  ford. 
So  move  we  on.     I  only  meant 
To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderic  Dhu. 
Bold  Saxon !  to  his  promise  just, 
Vich  Alpine  shall  discharge  his  trust. 
This  murderous  chief,  this  ruthless  man, 
This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan, 
NEW  EC.  S. — 37 


434  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

Will  lead  thee  safe  through  watch  and  ward, 
Far  past  Clan  Alpine's  outmost  guard; 
Then  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 
A  chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 

FROM  SCOTT. 


CCL.— BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT. —No.  I. 

THE  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  the  first  of  importance  in  the  Revolu- 
tionary war,  was  fought  June  17th,  1775.  This  and  the  succeeding 
exercise  are  extracts  from  a  speech  delivered  by  Webster  on  laying 
the  corner  stone  of  the  monument,  designed  to  commemorate  that 
event.  They  can  be  spoken  in  connection  or  separately. 

THE  society,  whose  organ  I  am,  was  formed  for  the  pur- 
pose of  rearing  some  honorable  and  durable  monument  to 
the  memory  of  the  early  friends  of  American  Independence. 
They  have  thought,  that,  for  this  object,  no  time  could  be 
more  propitious  than  the  present  prosperous  and  peaceful 
period;  that  no  place  could  claim  preference  over  this  mem- 
orable spot;  and  that  no  day  could  be  more  auspicious  to 
the  undertaking  than  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  which 
was  here  fought. 

The  foundation  of  that  monument  we  have  now  laid. 
With  solemnities  suited  to  the  occasion,  with  prayers  to 
Almighty  God  for  his  blessing,  and  in  the  midst  of  this 
cloud  of  witnesses,  we  have  begun  the  work.  We  trust  it 
will  be  prosecuted;  and,  that,  springing  from  a  broad  foun- 
dation, rising  high  in  massive  solidity  and  unadorned  gran- 
deur, it  may  remain,  as  long  as  Heaven  permits  the  works 
of  man  to  last,  a  fit  emblem,  both  of  the  events  in  memory 
of  which  it  is  raised,  and  of  the  gratitude  of  those  who 
have  reared  it. 

We  know,  indeed,  that  the  record  of  illustrious  actions  is 
most  safely  deposited  in  the  universal  remembrance  of  man- 
kind. We  know,  that,  if  we  could  cause  this  structure  to 
ascend,  not  only  till  it  reached  the  skies,  but  till  it  pierced 
them,  its  broad  surfaces  could  still  contain  but  part  of 
that,  which,  in  an  age  of  knowledge,  hath  already  been 
spread  over  the  earth,  and  which  history  charges  itself  with 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  435 

making  known  to  all  future  times.  We  know  that  no  in- 
scription, on  entablatures  less  broad  than  the  earth  itself, 
can  carry  information  of  the  events  we  commemorate 
where  it  has  not  already  gone;  and  that  no  structure, 
which  shall  not  outlive  the  duration  of  letters  and  knowl- 
edge among  men,  can  prolong  the  memorial. 

But  our  object  is,  by  this  edifice,  to  show  our  own  deep 
sense  of  the  value  and  importance  of  the  achievements  of 
our  ancestors ;  and,  by  presenting  this  work  of  gratitude 
to  the  eye,  to  keep  alive  similar  sentiments,  and  to  foster 
a  constant  regard  for  the  principles  of  the  revolution. 
Human  beings  are  composed,  not  of  reason  only,  but  of 
imagination,  also,  and  sentiment;  and  that  is  neither 
wasted  nor  misapplied,  which  is  appropriated  to  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  right  direction  to  sentiments,  and  opening 
proper  springs  of  feeling  in  the  heart. 

FROM  WEBSTER. 


CCLI.— BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT.— No.  II. 

LET  it  not  be  supposed  that  our  object,  in  erecting  this 
monument,  is  to  perpetuate  national  hostility,  or  even  to 
cherish  a  mere  military  spirit.  It  is  higher,  purer,  nobler. 
We  consecrate  our  work  to  the  spirit  of  national  indepen- 
dence, and  we  wish  that  the  light  of  peace  may  rest  upon  it 
forever.  We  rear  a  memorial  of  our  conviction  of  that  un- 
measured benefit,  which  has  been  conferred  on  our  own 
land,  and  of  the  happy  influences,  which  have  been  pro- 
duced, by  the  same  events,  on  the  general  interests  of 
mankind. 

We  come,  as  Americans,  to  mark  a  spot,  which  must 
forever  be  dear  to  us  and  our  posterity.  We  wish,  that 
whosoever,  in  all  coming  time,  shall  turn  his  eye  hither, 
may  behold  that  the  place  is  not  undistinguished,  where 
the  first  great  battle  of  the  revolution  was  fought.  We 
wish,  that  this  structure  may  proclaim  the  magnitude  and 
importance  of  that  event  to  every  class  and  every  age. 
We  wish,  that  infancy  may  learn  the  purpose  of  its  erec- 


436  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

tion  from  maternal  lips,  and  that  weary  and  withered  age 
may  behold  it,  and  be  solaced  by  the  recollections  which 
it  suggests. 

We  wish,  that  labor  may  look  up  here,  and  be  proud,  in 
the  midst  of  its  toil.  We  wish,  that,  in  those  days  of  dis- 
aster, which,  as  they  come  on  all  nations,  must  be  expected 
to  come  on  us  also,  desponding  patriotism  may  turn  its 
eyes  hitherward,  and  be  assured  that  the  foundations  of  our 
national  power  still  stand  strong.  We  wish,  that  this  col- 
umn, rising  toward  heaven  among  the  pointed  spires  of  so 
many  temples  dedicated  to  God,  may  contribute,  also,  to 
produce,  in  all  minds,  a  pious  feeling  of  dependence  and 
gratitude. 

We  wish,  finally,  that  the  last  object  on  the  sight  of 
him  who  leaves  his  native  shore,  and  the  first  to  gladden 
his  who  revisits  it,  may  be  something  which  shall  remind 
him  of  the  liberty  and  the  glory  of  his  country.  Let  it 
rise,  till  it  meets  the  sun  in  his  coming ;  let  the  earliest 
light  of  the  morning  gild  it,  and  parting  day  linger  and 
play  on  its  summit.  FROM  WEBSTER. 


CCLII— MONUMENT  TO  WASHINGTON. 

I  AM  met  with  the  great  objection,  What  good  will  the 
Monument  to  Washington  do?  I  beg  leave  to  exercise  my 
birthright  as  a  Yankee,  and  answer  this  question  by  asking 
two  or  three  more,  to  which,  I  believe  it  will  be  quite  as 
difficult  to  furnish  a  satisfactory  reply.  I  am  asked,  What 
good  will  the  monument  do?  And  I  ask,  what  good  does 
anything  do?  What  is  good?  Does  anything  do  good? 

The  persons  who  suggest  this  objection,  of  course,  think 
that  there  are  some  projects  and  undertakings  that  do 
good ;  and  I  should  therefore  like  to  have  the  idea  of  good 
explained,  and  analyzed,  and  run  out  to  its  elements.  When 
this  is  done,  if  I  do  not  demonstrate,  that  the  monument 
does  the  same  kind  of  good  that  anything  else  does,  I  shall 
consent  that  the  huge  blocks  of  granite,  already  laid,  should 
be  reduced  to  gravel,  and  carted  off  to  fill  up  the  mill- 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  437 

pond :  for  that,  I  suppose,  is  one  of  the  good  things.  Does 
a  railroad  or  canal  do  good?  You  answer,  yes.  And  how? 
It  faqilitates  intercourse,  opens  markets,  and  increases  the 
wealth  of  the  country.  But  what  is  this  good  for  ?  Why, 
individuals  prosper  and  get  rich.  And  what  good  does  that 
do?  Is  mere  wealth,  as  an  ultimate  end,  gold  and  silver, 
without  an  inquiry  as  to  their  use,  are  these  a  good  ?  Cer- 
tainly not. 

I  should  insult  this  audience  by  attempting  to  prove  that 
a  rich  man,  as  such,  is  neither  better  nor  happier  than  a 
poor  one.  But,  as  men  grow  rich,  they  live  better.  Is 
there  any  good  in  this,  stopping  here  ?  Is  mere  animal 
life,  feeding,  working,  and  sleeping  like  an  ox,  entitled  to 
be  called  good?  Certainly  not.  But  these  improvements 
increase  the  population.  And  what  good  does  that  do? 
Where  is  the  good  in  counting  twelve  millions,  instead  of 
six,  of  mere  feeding,. working,  sleeping  animals?  There  is, 
then,  no  good  in  the  mere  animal  life,  except  that  it  is  the 
physical  basis  of  that  higher  moral  existence,  which  resides 
in  the  soul,  the  heart,  the  mind,  the  conscience ;  in  good 
principles,  good  feelings,  and  the  good  actions  which  flow 
from  them. 

Now  I  say  that  generous  and  patriotic  sentiments,  senti- 
ments which  prepare  us  to  serve  our  country,  to  live  for 
our  country,  to  die  for  our  country;  feelings  like  those 
which  carried  Prescott,  and  Warren,  and  Putnam  to  the 
battle-field,  are  good;  good,  humanly  speaking,  of  the  high- 
est order.  It  is  good  to  have  them,  good  to  encourage 
them,  good  to  honor  them,  good  to  commemorate  them. 
And  whatever  tends  to  animate  and  strengthen  such  feel- 
ings, does  as  much  practical  good,  as  filling  up  low  grounds 
and  building  railroads.  This  is  my  demonstration. 

FKOM  EVERETT. 


438  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCLIII.— SOLDIERS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

THE  present  provision  for  the  soldiers  of  the  revolution 
is  not  sufficient.  In  the  practical  execution  of  the  laws, 
also,  the  whole  beneficent  spirit  of  our  institutions  seem  to 
have  been  reversed.  Instead  of  bestowing  these  hard- 
earned  rewards  with  alacrity,  they  appear  to  have  been 
refused,  or  yielded  with  reluctance.  To  send  away  the 
war-worn  veteran,  bowed  down  with  the  infirmities  of  age, 
empty  from  your  door,  seems  to  have  been  deemed  an  act 
of  merit. 

So  rigid  has  been  the  construction  and  application  of 
the  existing  law,  that  cases  most  strictly  within  its  provis- 
ions, of  meritorious  service  and  abject  poverty,  have  been 
excluded  from  its  benefits.  Yet  gentlemen  tell  us,  that 
this  law,  so  administered,  is  too  liberal ;  that  it  goes  too 
far,  and  they  would  repeal  it.  They  would  take  back 
even  the  little  which  they  have  given !  And  is  this  pos- 
sible? Look  abroad  upon  this  wide  extended  land,  upon 
its  wealth,  its  happiness,  its  hopes ;  and  then  turn  to  the 
aged  soldier,  who  gave  you  all,  and  see  him  descend  in 
poverty  to  the  tomb!  The  time  is  short. 

A  few  years  and  these  remnants  of  a  former  age  will  no 
longer  be  seen.  Then  we  shall  indulge  unavailing  regrets 
for  our  present  apathy  :  for,  how  can  the  ingenuous  mind 
look  upon  the  grave  of  an  injured  benefactor?  How 
poignant  the  reflection,  that  the  time  for  reparation  and 
atonement  has  gone  forever !  In  what  bitterness  of  soul 
we  look  back  upon  the  infatuation,  which  shall  have  cast 
aside  an  opportunity,  which  never  can  return,  to  give  peace 
to  our  consciences  ! 

We  shall  then  endeavor  to  stifle  our  convictions,  by 
empty  honors  to  their  bones.  We  shall  raise  high  the 
monument,  and  trumpet  loud  -their  deeds,  but  it  will  be 
all  in  vain.  It  can  not  warm  the  hearts,  which  shall  have 
sunk  cold  and  comfortless  to  the  earth.  This  is  no  illu- 
sion. How  often  do  we  see,  in  our  public  gazettes,  a 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  439 

pompous  display  of  honors  to  the  memory  of  some  veteran 
patriot,  who  was  suffered  to  linger  out  his  latter  days  in 
unregarded  penury ! 

"  How  proud  we  can  press  to  the  funeral  array 
Of  him  whom  we  shunned  in  his  sickness  and  sorrow ; 
And  bailiffs  may  seize  his  last  blanket  to-day, 
Whose  pall  shall  be  borne  up  by  heroes  to-morrow." 

We  are  profuse  in  our  expressions  of  gratitude  to  the 
soldiers  of  the  revolution.  We  can  speak  long  and  loud  in 
their  praise,  but  when  asked  to  bestow  something  substan- 
tial upon  them,  we  hesitate  and  palter.  To  them  we  owe 
every  thing,  even  the  soil  which  we  tread,  and  the  air  of 
freedom  which  we  breathe.  Let  us  not  tuin  them  house- 
less from  habitations  which  they  have  erected,  and  refuse 
them  even  a  pittance  from  the  exuberant  fruits  of  their 
own  labors.  FROM  SPEAGUE. 


CCLIV.-^-HECTOR. 

THE  siege  and  destruction  of  Troy  is  the  subject  of  Homer's  Iliad. 
Priam  was  its  king.  His  son  Hector  was  its  bravest  and  most  suc- 
cessful defender,  but  was,  at  last,  slain  by  Achilles,  one  of  the  assail- 
ing Greeks.  Cassandra  was  a  sister  of  Hector.  The  following  is 
from  Pope's  translation. 

AURORA  ;  morning.     ILION  ;  Troy. 

Now  shed  Aurora  round  her  saffron  ray, 

Sprung  through  the  gates  of  light,  and  gave  the  day : 

Charged  with  their  mournful  load,  to  Ilion  go 

The  sage  and  king,  majestically  slow. 

Cassandra  first  beholds,  from  Ilion' s  spire, 

The  sad  procession  of  her  hoary  sire, 

Then,  as  the  pensive  pomp  advanced  more  near, 

Her  breathless  brother  stretched  upon  the  bier; 

A  shower  of  tears  o'erflows  her  beauteous  eyes, 

Alarming  thus  all  Ilion  with  her  cries. 

"Turn  here  your  steps,  and  here  your  eyes  employ, 
Ye  wretched  daughters,  and  ye  sons  of  Troy ! 


440  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

If  e'er  ye  rushed  in  crowds,  with  vast  delight, 
To  hail  your  hero,  glorious  from  the  fight ; 
Now  meet  him  dead,  and  let  your  sorrows  flow ! 
Your  common  triumph,  and  your  common  woe." 

In  thronging  crowds  they  issue  to  the  plains, 
Nor  man,  nor  woman  in  the  walls  remains, 
In  every  face  the  self-same  grief  is  shown, 
And  Troy  sends  forth  one  universal  groan. 
Even  to  the  palace  the  sad  pomp  they  wait  ; 
They  weep,  and  place  him  on  the  bed  of  state. 
A  melancholy  choir  attend  around, 
With  plaintive  sighs,  and  music's  solemn  sound: 
Alternately  they  sing,  alternate  flow 
The  obedient  tears,  melodious  in  their  woe. 
While  deeper  sorrows  groan  from  each  full  heart, 
And  nature  speaks  at  every  pause  of  art. 

Then  to  the  corse  the  weeping  consort  flew";" 

Around  his  neck  her  milk-white  arms  she  threw, 

"And,  oh  my  Hector!  oh  my  lord!"  she  cries, 

"Snatched  in  thy  bloom  from  these  desiring  eyes, 

Thou  to  the  dismal  realms  forever  gone ! 

And  I  abandoned,  desolate,  alone! 

Our  Ilion  now,  her  great  defender  slain, 

Will  sink  a  smoking  ruin  on  the  plain. 

Who  now  protects  her  wives  with  guardian  care? 

Who  saves  her  infants  from  the  rage  of  war? 

Now  hostile  fleets  must  waft  those  infants  o'er, 

Those  wives  must  wait  them  on  a  foreign  shore! 

Why  gav'st  thou  not  to  me  thy  dying  hand  ? 
And  why  received  not  I  thy  last  command? 
Some  word  thou  wouldst  have  spoke,  which  sadly  dear, 
My  soul  might  keep,  or  utter  with  a  tear ; 
Which  never,  never,  could  be  lost  in  air, 
Fixed  in  my  heart,  and  oft-repeated  there!" 
FROM  HOMER. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  441 


CCLV.— ENGLAND'S  DEAD. 

Go,  stranger!  track  the  deep, 
Free,  free,  the  white  sail  spread! 
"Wave  may  not  foam,  nor  wild  wind  sweep, 
Where  rest  not  England's  dead. 

On  Egypt's  burning  plains, 

By  the  pyramid  o'erswayed, 
With  fearful  power  the  noon-day  reigns, 

And  the  palm-trees  yield  no  shade. 

But  let  the  angry  sun 

From  heaven  look  fiercely  red, 
Unfelt  by  those  whose  task  is  done ! 

There  slumber  England's  dead. 

The  hurricane  hath  might 

Along  the  Indian  shore, 
And  far,  by  Ganges'  banks  at  night, 

Is  heard  the  tiger's  roar. 

But  let  the  sound  roll  on ! 

It  hath  no  tone  of  dread 
For  those  that  from  their  toils  are  gone; 

There  slumber  England's  dead. 

Loud  rush  the  torrent-floods 

The  western  wilds  among, 
And  free,  in  green  Columbia's  woods, 

^The  hunter's  bow  is  strung. 

But  let  the  floods  rush  on! 

Let  the  arrow's  flight  be  sped ! 
Why  should  they  reck  whose  task  is  done? 

There  slumber  England's  dead! 

On  the  frozen  deep's  repose 

'Tis  a  dark  and  dreadful  hour, 
When  round  the  ship  the  ice-fields  close, 

To  chain  her  with  their  power. 

But  let  the  ice  drift  on ! 

Let  the  cold-blue  desert  spread ! 
Their  course  with  mast  and  flag  is  done, 

There  slumber  England's  dead. 
FROM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


442  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCL VI.— CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE. 

DURING  the  siege  of  Sebastopol,  an  English  officer  received  orders 
to  attack  with  his  small  force  a  very  large  body  of  Russians,  who 
were  defended  by  heavy  batteries.  Though  suspecting  from  the  dis- 
proportion, some  mistake,  he  charged  with  such  promptness  and 
courage,  that  the  enemy,  astonished  to  see  this  brave  handful  rush- 
ing into  the  jaws  of  death,  were  brought  to  a  sudden  stand,  and  had 
the  attack  been  seconded,  it  is  supposed  that  important  results  might 
have  followed.  A  small  portion  only  succeeded  in  regaining  their 
ranks.  It  proved  afterward  that  a  mistake  in  the  bearer  of  the  order, 
cost  this  useless  sacrifice  of  life. 

This  event  is  celebrated  in  the  following  lines  by  Tennyson,  Poet 
Laureate  of  England. 

HALF  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Charge!"  was  the  captain's  cry; 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  or  die; 
Into  the  valley  of  death,  rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell, 
Into  the  jaws  of  death,  rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
They  that  had  struck  so  well 

Rode  through  the  jaws  of  death, 

Half  a  league  back  again, 
Up  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them,  left  of  six  hundred. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  443 

Honor  the  brave  and  bold! 
Long  shall  the  tale  be  told, 
Yes,  when  our  babes  are  old, 
How  they  rode  onward. 

FROM  TENNYSON. 


CCLVIL— THE  ONSET. 

ROSE,  in  the  last  stanza,  refers  to  the  wars  between  the  houses 
of  York  and  Lancaster  for  the  English  throne.  The  red  rose  was 
adopted  by  one  party  as  its  emblem,  and  the  white  rose  by  the  other. 

SOUND  an  alarum !  The  foe  is  come ! 
I  hear  the  tramp,  the  neigh,  the  hum, 
The  cry,  and  the  blow  of  his  daring  drum : 

Huzza ! 

Sound!     The  blast  of  our  trumpet  blown 
Shall  carry  dismay  into  hearts  of  stone. 
What!  shall  we  shake  at  a  foe  unknown? 

Huzza!  huzza! 

Have  we  not  sinews  as  strong  as  they? 
Have  we  not  hearts  that  ne'er  gave  way  ? 
Have  we  not  God  on  our  side  to-day? 

Huzza! 

Look!  they  are  staggered  on  yon  black  heath: 
Steady  awhile,  and  hold  your  breath ! 
Now  is  your  time,  men!     Down,  like  death! 

Huzza !  huzza ! 

Stand  by  each  other,  and  front  on  your  foes! 
Fight,  while  a  drop  of  red  blood  flows ! 
Fight,  as  ye  fought  for  the  old  red  rose ! 

Huzza ! 

Sound !  Bid  your  terrible  trumpet  bray ! 
Blow,  till  their  brazen  throats  give  way ! 
Sound  to  the  battle!  Sound,  I  say! 


444  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW    SPEAKER. 


CCL VIII— LAMENT  FOR  CARTHON. 

THE  battle  had  ceased  along  the  field,  for  the  bard  had 
sung  the  song  of  peace.  The  chiefs  gathered  round  the 
falling  Carthon,  and  heard  his  words,  with  sighs.  Silent 
they  leaned  on  their  spears,  while  Balclutha's  hero  spoke. 
His  hair  sighed  in  the  wind,  and  his  words  were  feeble. 

"King  of  Morven,"  Carthon  said,  "I  fall  in  the  midst 
of  my  course.  A  foreign  tomb  receives,  in  youth,  the  last 
of  Reuthamir's  race.  Darkness  dwells  in  Balclutha ;  and 
the  shadows  of  grief  in  Crathmo.  But  raise  my  remem- 
brance on  the  banks  of  Lora,  where  my  fathers  dwell. 
Perhaps  the  husband  of  Moina  will  mourn  over  his  fallen 
Carthon." 

His  word  reached  the  heart  of  Clessammor :  he  fell,  in 
silence,  on  his  son.  The  host  stood  darkened  around :  no 
voice  is  on  the  plains  of  Lora.  Night  came,  and  the 
moon,  from  the  east,  looked  on  the  mournful  field,  but 
still  they  stood,  like  a  silent  grove  that  lifts  its  head  on 
Gormal,  when  the  loud  winds  are  laid,  and  dark  autumn 
is  on  the  plain. 

Three  days  they  mourned  over  Carthon  :  on  the  fourth, 
his  father  died.  In  the  narrow  plain  of  the  rock  they  lie ; 
and  a  dim  ghost  defends  their  tomb.  There  lovely  Moina 
is  often  seen,  when  the  sunbeam  darts  on  the  rock,  and 
all  around  is  dark.  There  she  is  seen,  Malvina,  but  not 
like  the  daughters  of  the  hill.  Her  robes  are  from  the 
stranger's  land;  and  she  is  still  alone. 

Fingal  was  sad  for  Carthon  ;  he  desired  his  bards  to 
mark  the  day,  when  shadowy  autumn  returned.  And 
often  did  they  mark  the  day,  and  sing  the  hero's  praise. 
"Who  comes  so  dark  from  ocean's  roar,  like  autumn's 
shadowy  cloud  ?  Death  is  trembling  in  his  hand  !  His 
eyes  are  flames  of  fire  !  Who  roars  along  dark  Lora's 
heath  ?  Who  but  Carthon  king  of  swords  ?  The  people 
fall  !  see !  how  he  strides,  like  the  sullen  ghost  of  Mor- 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  445 

ven !  But  there  he  lies,  a  goodly  oak  which  sudden  blasts 
overturned  !  When  shalt  thou  rise,  Balclutha's  joy!  lovely 
car-borne  Carthon  !  FROM  OSSIAN. 


CCLIX.— BURIAL  OF  OPHELIA. 

CROWNER;  coroner:  ARGAL;  ergo,  therefore. 

(Two  clowns  enter  with  spades,  to  dig    the  grave   of  Ophelia,  who    had 
drowned  herself.) 

1st  Clown.  Is  she  to  be  buried  in  Christian  burial,  that 
willfully  seeks  her  own  salvation  ? 

2nd  Clown.  I  tell  thee,  she  is :  therefore  make  her  grave 
straight :  the  crowner  hath  set  on  her,  and  finds  it  Chris- 
tian burial. 

1st  Clown.  How  can  that  be,  unless  she  drowned  her- 
self in  her  own  defense? 

2nd  Clown.   Why,  'tis  found  so. 

1st  Clown.  It  must  be  se  offendendo;  it  can  not  be  else. 
I?or  here  lies  the  point :  if  I  drown  myself  wittingly,  it 
argues  an  act;  and  an  act  has  three  branches;  it  is,  to 
act,  to  do,  and  to  perform  :  Argal,  she  drowned  herself 
wittingly. 

2nd  Clown.    Nay,  but  hear  you,  goodman  delver. 

1st  Clown.  Give  me  leave.  Here  lies  the  water ;  good : 
here  stands  the  man  ;  good  :  if  the  man  go  to  this  water,  and 
drown  himself,  it  is,  will  he,  nill  he,  he  goes;  mark  you  that : 
but  if  the  water  come  to  him,  and  drown  him,  he  drowns 
not  himself:  Argal,  he,  that  is  not  guilty  of  his  own 
death,  shortens  not  his  own  life. 

2nd  Clown.   But  is  this  law? 

1st  Clown.     Ay,  marry  is't;  crowner's  quest  law. 

2nd  Clown.  Will  you  have  the  truth  on 't  ?  If  this  had 
not  been  a  gentlewoman,  she  would  have  been  buried  out 
of  Christian  burial. 

1st  Clown.  Why,  there  thou  sayest:  and  the  more  pity, 
that  great  folks  shall  have  countenance  in  this  world  to 


446  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

drown  or  hang  themselves,  more  than  other  even  Christian. 
Come,  my  spade.  There  is  no  ancient  gentlemen  but 
gardeners,  ditchers,  and  grave  makers  j  they  hold  up  Adam's 
profession. 

2nd  Clown.   Was  he  a  gentleman  ? 

1st  Clown.     He  was  the  first  that  ever  bore  arms. 

2nd  Clown.   Why,  he  had  none. 

1st  Clown.  What,  art  a  heathen  ?  How  dost  thou  un- 
derstand the  Scriptures?  The  Scripture  says,  "Adam 
digged;"  could  he  dig  without  arms?  I'll  put  another 
question  to-thee:  if  thou  answerest  me  not  to  the  pur- 
pose, confess  thyself. 

2nd  Clown.   Go  to. 

1st  Clown.  What  is  he,  that  builds  stronger  than  either 
the  mason,  the  shipwright,  or  the  carpenter? 

2nd  Clown.  The  gallows  maker;  for  that  frame  outlives 
a  thousand  tenants. 

1st  Clown.     I  like  thy  wit  well,  in  good  faith ;  the  gal- 
lows does  well ;  but  how  does   it  well  ?     It  does  well   to 
those  that  do  ill :  now  thou  dost  ill,  to  say  the  gallows  is* 
built  stronger  than  the  church ;  Argal,  the  gallows  may  do 
well  to  thee.     To't  again:  come. 

2nd  Clown.  Who  builds  stronger  than  a  mason,  a  ship- 
wright, or  a  carpenter? 

1st  Clown.     Ay,  tell  me  that,  and  unyoke. 

2nd  Clown.   Marry,  now  I  can  tell. 

1st  Clown.     To't. 

2nd  Clown.   Mass,  I  can  not  tell. 

Is*  Clown.  Cudgel  thy  brains  no  more  about  it;  for 
your  dull  donkey  will  not  mend  his  pace  with  beating; 
and  when  you  are  asked  this  question  next,  say,  a  grave 
maker;  the  houses  that  he  makes,  last  till  doomsday.  (Ex- 
'  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  447 


CCLX.— DOCTOR  SLOP. 

IMAGINE  to  yourself  a  little  squat,  uncourtly  figure  of  a 
Dr.  Slop,  of  about  four  feet  and  a  half,  perpendicular 
hight,  with  a  breadth  of  back,  and  sesquipedality  of  body, 
which  might  have  done  honor  to  a  sergeant  in  the  horse- 
guards. 

Imagine  such  an  one,  for  such,  I  say,  were  the  outlines 
of  Dr.  Slop's  figure,  coming  slowly  along,  foot  by  foot, 
waddling  through  the  dirt  upon  the  vertebrae  of  a  little 
diminutive  pony,  of  a  pretty  color,  but  of  strength,  alack! 
scarce  able  to  have  made  an  amble  of  it,  under  such  a  far- 
del, had  the  roads  been  in  an  ambling  condition.  They 
were  not.  Imagine  to  yourself  Obadiah,  mounted  upon  a 
strong  monster  of  a  coach-horse,  urged  into  a  full  gallop, 
and  making  all  practicable  speed  the  adverse  way. 

Pray,  let  me  interest  you  a  moment  in  this  description. 
Had  Dr.  Slop  beheld  Obadiah  a  mile  off,  posting  in  a  nar- 
row lane  directly  toward  him,  at  that  monstrous  rate  ;  splash- 
ing and  plunging  like  a  demon  through  thick  and  thin  as 
he  approached;  would  not  such  a  phenomenon,  with  such 
a  vortex  of  mud  and  water  moving  along  with  it,  round  its 
axis,  have  been  a  subject  of  juster  apprehension  to  Dr.  Slop, 
in  his  situation,  than  the  worst  of  Whiston's  comets ;  to 
say  nothing  of  the  nucleus;  that  is,  of  Obadiah  and  the 
coach-horse?  In  my  idea,  the  vortex  alone  of  them  was 
enough  to  have  involved  and  carried,  if  not  the  doctor,  at 
least  the  doctor's  pony,  quite  away  with  it. 

What,  then,  do  you  think  must  the  terror  and  hydro- 
phobia of  Dr.  Slop  have  been,  when  you  hear,  (which  you 
are  just  going  to  do,)  that  he  was  advancing  thus  warily 
along  toward  Shandy  Hall,  and  had  approached  within 
sixty  yards  of  it,  and  within  five  yards  of  a  sudden  turn, 
made  by  an  acute  angle  of  the  garden  wall,  and  in  the 
dirtiest  part  of  a  dirty  lane,  when  Obadiah  and  his  coach- 
horse  turned  the  corner,  rapid,  furious;  pop!  full  upon 
him  ?  Nothing,  1  think,  in  nature  can  be  supposed  more 


448  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

terrible  than  such  a  rencounter;  so  imprompt!  so  ill-pre- 
pared to  stand  the  shock  of  it,  as  Dr.  Slop  was ! 

What  could  Dr.  Slop  do  ?  He  crossed  himself.  He  had 
better  have  kept  hold  of  the  pommel.  He  had  so ;  nay,  as 
it  happened,  he  had  better  have  done  nothing  at  all.  For 
in  crossing  himself,  he  let  go  his  whip.  And  in  attempting 
to  save  his  whip  between  his  knee  and  his  saddle's  skirt, 
as  it  slipped,  he  lost  his  stirrup ;  in  losing  which,  he  lost 
his  seat;  and  in  the  multitude  of  all  these  losses,  the  un- 
fortunate doctor  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  So  that,  with- 
out waiting  for  Obadiah's  onset,  he  left  his  pony  to  its  des- 
tiny, tumbling  off  it  diagonally,  something  in  the  style  and 
manner  of  a  pack  of  wool,  and  without  any  other  conse- 
quence from  the  fall,  save  that  of  being  left,  (as  it  would 
have  been,)  with  the  broadest  part  of  him  sunk  about  twelve 
inches  deep  in  the  mire. 

Obadiah  pulled  off  his  cap  twice  to  Dr.  Slop ;  once  as  he 
was  falling,  and  then  again  when  he  saw  him  seated.  Ill- 
timed  complaisance !  Should  not  the  fellow  have  stopped 
his  horse,  and  got  off  and  helped  him  ?  He  did  all  that 
his  situation  would  allow j  but  the  momentum  of  the  coach- 
horse  was  so  great,  that  Obadiah  could  not  do  it  all  at 
once.  He  rode  in  a  circle  three  times  round  Dr.  Slop,  be- 
fore he  could  fully  accomplish  it  any  how.  At  last,  when 
he  did  stop,  it  was  done  with  such  an  explosion  of  mud, 
that  Obadiah  would  better  have  been  a  league  off.  Iji  short, 
never  was  a  Dr.  Slop  so  beluted  and  so  transubstantiated, 
since  that  thing  came  into  fashion.  FKOM  STERNE. 


GCLXL— THE  SUPPER. 

BERLIN;  pro.  JBer-lin'.     GOUT;   (goo,)  relish. 
SECHSER;    about  a  cent  and  a  half. 

IN  a  neat  little  village  not  far  from  Berlin, 
Was  a  house  called  THE  LION,  a  very  good  Inn; 
The  keeper  a  person  quite  ready  to  please; 
Each  customer  serving  with  infinite  ease. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  449 

There  entered  his  house  once,  quite  late  in  the  day, 
A  fine-looking  fellow,  spruce,  beauish,  and  gay, 
Who  ordered,  and  thrice  did  the  order  repeat, 
A  supper  first  rate,  e'en  a  supper  of  meat ! 
"Beefsteak  for  my  money!"  he  pompously  said; 
"Bring  cheese  for  my  money,  bring  butter,  bring  bread!" 
uAnd  wine?"  said  the  host;  "Will  your  honor  have  wine?" 
MYes,  wine,"  he  replied,  "if  'tis  really  fine." 

The  supper  was  brought,  he  showed  his  approval 

By  quickly  effecting  its  utter  removal; 
Eating  hearty,  I  mean,  as  hungry  folks  do, 
With  a  great  deal  of  haste  and  a  great  deal  of  gout. 

When  supper  was  ended,  and  time  came  to  pay, 

In  the  hand  of  the  landlord  a  sechser  he  lay, 

Saying:  "Here  is  my  money,  good  fellow; — good  day!" 

"What,  sir,  do  you  mean?"  said  the  host  in  dismay; 

"A  dollar  you  owe  me:  you've  a  dollar  to  pay!" 

"A  dollar?"  said  dandy,  with  air  very  funny, 

"  I  asked  you  for  supper  and  wine  for  my  money ! 

Not  a  cent  had  I  more,  when  hither  I  came, 

And,  if  you've  given  me  too  much  for  the  same, 

The  fault  is  your  own;  sure  I'm  not  to  blame." 

He  probably  thought  it  a  witty  conceit, 

Thus  meanly  a  person,  not  thinking,  to  cheat; 

But  in  my  humble  notion,  'twas  no  wit  at  all; 

Twas,what  you  may  meanness  and  impudence  call; 

A  thing  very  fitting  a  reckless  outlaw, 

Obedient  alone  to  the  calls  of  his  maw. 

The  landlord  was  wrathy ;  abused  him  aloud ; 

Called  him  dandified  puppy,  conceited  and  proud. 

But  now  hear  the  best  of  the  story  by  far. 

"  Though  scamp,"  said  the  landlord,  "  undoubted,  you  are, 

I'll  give  you  the  dinner,  which  justly  you  owe, 

And  with  it  a  dollar,  if  straightway  you  go, 

To  my  neighbor  who  keeps  THE  BEAK  o'er  the  way, 

And  do  again  there  what  you  have  done  here  to-day." 

It  seems  from  THE  BEAR,  or  the  house  of  that  name, 
To  THE  LION,  dissatisfied,  boarders  oft  came; 

And  this  put  their  keepers  at  war,  as  we  say, 

Each  injuring  the  other,  and  that,  every  way. 
NEW  EC.  S.— 38 


450  M°GUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

Well;  soon  as  the  landlord  his  offer  had  made, 
On  the  money  the  sly  guest  his  dexter  hand  laid, 
While  his  left  took  the  door,  as  he  smilingly  said: 
"Good  day,  my  dear  fellow!  I've  been  to  THE  BEAR; 
And  what  I've  done  here,  the  same  I've  done  there; 
For  your  neighbor  engaged  me  by  offers  quite  fair, 
To  do  at  THE  LION  what  I  did  at  THE  BEAR!" 


CCLXIL— CAIUS  MARIUS.—  No.  I. 

CAIUS  MAKIUS,  having  been  appointed  a  general  by  the  Romans, 
was  opposed  by  the  patricians,  or  higher  classes,  upon  the  ground  that 
he  was  a  plebeian,  or  one  of  the  lower  class.  This  and  the  succeeding 
exercise  are  extracts  from  his  reply.  They  may  be  spoken  as  one 
piece  or  separately. 

FROM  my  youth,  my  countrymen,  I  have  been  familiar 
with  toils  and  with  dangers.  When  I  served  you  for  no 
reward  but  that  of  honor,  I  was  faithful  to  your  interest : 
and  now  that  you  have  conferred  upon  me  a  place  of  profit, 
it  is  not  my  design  to  betray  you.  You  have  committed 
to  my  charge  the  war  against  Jugurtha.  At  this,  the  pa- 
tricians are  offended. 

But  where  would  be  the  wisdom  of  giving  such  a  com- 
mand to  one  of  their  honorable  body? — to  a  person  of  illus- 
trious birth,  of  ancient  family,  of  innumerable  statues,  but 
of  no  experience?  What  service  would  his  longtime  of 
dead  ancestors,  or  his  multitude  of  motionless  statues,  ren- 
der his  country  in  the  day  of  battle?  What  could  such  a 
general  do,  amid  difficulties  to  which  he  himself  is  unequal, 
but,  in  his  trepidation  and  inexperience,  have  recourse  for 
direction  to  some  inferior  commander?  Thus,  your  patri- 
cian general  would,  in  fact,  have  a  general  over  him ;  so 
that  the  acting  commander  would  still  be  a  plebeian. 

So  true  is  this,  my  countrymen,  that  I  have  myself  known 
those  who  were  chosen  consuls,  then  to  begin  to  read  the 
history  of  their  own  country,  of  which,  until  that  time,  they 
were  totally  ignorant ;  that  is,  they  first  procured  the  office, 
and  then  bethought  themselves  of  the  qualifications,  neces- 
sary for  the  proper  discharge  of  its  duties. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  451 

Those  worthless  men  lead  a  life  of  so  great  inactivity  as 
to  induce  the  belief  that  they  despise  any  honors  you  can 
bestow,  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  as  eagerly  aspire  to 
honors  as  if  they  had  deserved  them  by  the  most  indus- 
trious course  of  virtue.  They  lay  claim  to  the  rewards  of 
activity,  for  their  having  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  luxury. 
Yet,  none  can  be  more  lavish  than  themselves  in  the  praise 
of  their  ancestors.  By  celebrating  their  forefathers,  they 
imagine  that  they  honor  themselves ;  whereas,  they  thereby 
do  the  very  reverse;  for,  in  proportion  as  their  ancestors 
were  distinguished  for  their  virtues,  are  they  disgraced  by 
their  vices. 

The  glory  of  ancestors  sheds  a  light,  indeed,  upon  their 
posterity;  but  a  light  which  tends  only  to  reveal  the  char- 
acter of  their  descendants.  It  alike  exhibits  to  public  view, 
both  their  degeneracy  and  their  worth.  I  acknowledge  that 
I  can  not  boast  of  the  deeds  of  my  forefathers ;  but  I  hope 
to  answer  the  cavils  of  the  patricians  by  manfully  defend- 
ing what  I  have  myself  accomplished. 


CCLXIII— CAIUS  MARIUS.— No.  II. 

WHEN  a  comparison  is  made  between  patrician  haughti- 
ness and  plebeian  experience,  I  submit  it  to  your  judgment, 
Romans,  to  determine  on  which  side  the  advantage  lies. 
The  very  actions  of  which  they  have  only  read,  I  have 
partly  seen,  and  partly  myself  achieved.  What  they  know 
by  reading,  I  know  by  experience.  They  are  pleased  to 
slight  my  mean  birth:  I  despise  their  mean  characters. 
Want  of  birth  and  fortune  is  the  objection  against  me: 
want  of  personal  worth,  against  them. 

But,  are  not  all  men  of  the  same  species?  What  can 
make  a  difference  between  one  man  and  another,  but  the 
endowments  of  the  mind?  For  my  part,  I  shall  always 
look  upon  the  bravest  man,  as  the  noblest  man.  Suppose 
it  were  inquired  of  the  fathers  of  such  patricians  as  Albinus 
and  Bestia,  whether,  were  they  to  have  their  choice,  they 
would  desire  sons  of  their  character,  or  of  mine,  what  would 


452  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

they  answer,  but,  that  they  would  wish  the  worthiest  to  be 
their  sons  ? 

If  the  patricians  have  reason  to  despise  me,  let  them, 
likewise,  despise  their  ancestors,  whose  nobility  was  the 
fruit  of  their  virtue.  Do  they  envy  me  the  honors  be- 
stowed upon  me  ?  Let  them,  likewise,  envy  my  labors,  my 
abstinence,  and  the  dangers  I  have  undergone  for  my  coun- 
try, by  which  I  have  acquired  those  honors. 

Observe,  now,  my  countrymen,  the  injustice  of  the  patri- 
cians. They  arrogate  to  themselves  honors  on  account  of 
the  exploits  done  by  their  forefathers,  while  they  will  not 
allow  me  the  due  meed  of  praise  for  performing  the  very 
same  kind  of  heroic  actions  in  my  own  person.  He  has  no 
statues  of  his  family,  they  exclaim.  He  can  trace  back  no 
line  of  venerable  ancestors.  What  then?  Is  it  a  subject  of 
higher  praise  for  one  to  disgrace  his  illustrious  ancestors, 
than  to  become  illustrious  by  his  own  noble  behavior? 

What  if  I  can  show  no  statues  of  my  family?  I  can 
exhibit  the  standards,  the  armor,  and  the  trappings  which 
I  have  myself  taken  from  the  vanquished.  I  can  show  the 
scars  of  those  wounds  which  I  have  received  by  facing  the 
enemies  of  my  country.  These  are  my  statues.  These 
are  the  honors  of  which  I  boast.  These  were  not  left  me 
by  inheritance,  as  theirs  were ;  but  they  have  been  earned 
by  toil,  by  abstinence,  by  acts  of  valor  amid  clouds  of  dust 
and  seas  of  blood  ;  amid  scenes  of  peril  and  carnage  in  which 
those  effeminate  patricians,  who,  by  indirect  means,  endeavor 
to  lower  me  in  your  estimation,  have  never  dared  to  show 
their  faces. 


CCLXIV.— THE  AMERICAN  NAVY. 

I  SOMETIMES  quote  the  United  States  of  America.  I 
think,  'in  this  matter  of  national  defense,  they  set  us  a 
very  good  example.  Does  any  body  dare  to  attack  that 
nation  ?  There  is  not  a  more  formidable  power,  in  every 
sense  of  the  word, — although  you  may  talk  of  France  and 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  453 

Russia, — than  the  United  States  of  America.  There  is  not 
a  statesman  with  a  head  on  his  shoulders  who  does  not 
know  it;  and  yet  the  policy  of  the  United  States  has  been 
to  keep  a  very  small  armed  force  in  existence. 

At  the  present  moment,  they  have  not  a  line-of-battle 
ship  afloat,  notwithstanding  the  vast  extension  of  their 
commercial  marine.  Last  year,  she  recalled  the  last  ship- 
of-war  from  the  Pacific;  and  I  shall  be  very  much  aston- 
ished if  you  see  another.  The  people  are  well  employed, 
and  her  taxation  is  light,  which  countries  can  not  have,  if 
they  burden  themselves  with  the  expense  of  these  enormous 
armaments. 

Now,  many  persons  appeal  to  the  English  nation  under 
the  impression  that  they  are  a  very  pugnacious  people.  I 
am  not  quite  sure  that  we  are  not.  I  am  not  quite  sure, 
that  my  opponents  do  not  sometimes  have  the  advantage 
over  me  in  appealing  to  the  ready-primed  pugnacity  of  our 
fellow-countrymen.  I  believe  I  am  pugnacious  myself; 
but  what  I  want  is,  to  persuade  my  countrymen  to  pre- 
serve their  pugnaciousness  until  somebody  comes  to  attack 
them. 

Be  assured,  if  you  want  to  be  prepared  for  future  war, 
you  will  be  better  prepared  in  the  way  that  the  United 
States  is  prepared,  by  the  enormous  number  of  merchant 
ships  of  large  tonnage  constantly  being  built,  in  the  vast 
number  of  enormous  steamers  turning  out  of  the  building 
yards  at  New  York,  finer  than  any  to  be  found  in  the  royal 
navies  of  any  country  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  If  the 
spirit  of  America  were  once  aroused,  and  her  resentment 
excited,  her  mercantile  marine  alone,  the  growth  of  com- 
merce, the  result  of  a  low  taxation,  and  a  prosperous  peo- 
ple,— her  mercantile  marine  alone,  would  be  more  than  a 
match  for  any  war  navy  that  exists  on  the  continent  of 
Europe.  FROM  COBDEN. 


454  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER. 

CCLXV.— THE  SAILOR. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  a  speech  on  flogging  in  the  navy. 

WHAT  is  the  American  sailor,  that  he  is  to  be  treated 
worse  than  a  dog?  He  has  been  my  companion  for  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  in  calms  and  storms,  priva- 
tions, sufferings,  and  hunger,  in  peace  and  in  war.  I  have 
lived  with  him,  side  by  side,  by  sea  and  land.  I  have  seen 
him  on  the  Western  Ocean,  when  there  was  no  night  to 
vail  his  deeds.  I  have  seen  him  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  sur- 
rounded by  pestilential  disease.  I  have  seen  him  among 
the  West  India  Islands,  in  chase  of  pirates.  I  have  en- 
camped with  him  on  the  California  mountains. 

I  have  seen  him  march  through  the  enemy's  country, 
over  mountains  and  through  rivers,  with  no  shoes  on  but 
those  of  canvas,  made  by  his  own  hands,  and  with  no 
provisions  but  what  he  took  from  the  enemy.  And,  finally, 
I  have  lain  beside  him  on  the  cold  ground,  when  ice  has 
formed  on  his  beard.  His  heart  has  beat  close  to  mine. 
I  ought  to  know  him.  I  do  know  him ;  and,  this  day,  be- 
fore the  assembled  senate  of  the  republic,  I  stand  up  to 
speak  in  his  behalf.  I  hope  he  will  find  an  abler  advo- 
cate. I  am  sure  he  will  find  such  on  this  floor.  But, 
nevertheless,  hear  me. 

American  sailors,  as  a  class,  have  loved  their  country  as 
well,  as  any  other  equal  number  of  citizens,  and  have  done 
more  for  her  in  peace  and  in  war.  And  what  has  his 
country  done  for  him  ?  You  have  neglected  to  give  him 
even  your  thanks,  and  more,  to  cap  the  climax  of  his 
country's  ingratitude,  these  memorialists  would  have  him 
scourged.  They  would  scourge  him  for  drunkenness,  when 
they  put  their  bottle  to  his  mouth.  They  would  scourge 
him  for  inattention  to  his  duty,  when  injustice  and  wrong 
have  made  him,  for  an  instant,  discontented  and  sullen. 
Shame !  shame ! 

The  American  sailor,  by  his  superior  qualities,  as  a 
man,  has  enabled  you  to  rival  in  commerce  the  boasted 
mistress  of  the  ocean.  Where  is  the  coast  or  harbor,  in 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  455 

the  wide  world,  accessible  to  human  enterprise,  to  which 
he  has  not  carried  your  flag?  His  berth  is  no  sinecure, 
his  service  is  no  easy  service.  He  is  necessarily  an  isolated 
being.  He  knows  no  comforts  of  home,  and  wife,  and 
children.  He  reaps  no  reward  for  the  increase  of  treasure 
he  brings  to  you.  When  on  shore,  he  is  among  strangers, 
and  friendless.  When  worn  out,  he  is  scarcely  provided 
for ;  making  men  rich,  he  lives  and  dies  poor.  Carrying 
the  gifts  of  civilization  and  the  blessing  of  the  gospel 
through  the  world,  he  is  treated  as  an  outcast  from  the 
mercies  of  both. 

But  look  to  your  history,  which  the  world  knows  by 
heart,  and  you  will  find,  in  its  brightest  page,  the  glorious 
achievements  of  the  American  sailor.  Whatever  his  coun- 
try has  done  to  disgrace  him,  and  break  his  spirit,  he  has 
never  disgraced  her.  He  has  always  been  ready  to  serve 
her,  always  has  served  her  faithfully.  He  has  often  been 
weighed  in  the  balance,  and  never  found  wanting. 

FROM  COMMODORE  STOCKTON. 


CCLXVI— THE  WKECK. 

ALL  night,  the  booming  minute  gun 

Had  pealed  along  the  deep, 
And  mournfully  the  rising  sun 

Looked  o'er  the  tide- worn  steep. 
A  bark  from  India's  coral  strand, 

Before  the  raging  blast, 
Had  vailed  her  topsails  to  the  sand, 

And  bowed  her  noble  mast. 

We  saw  her  treasures  cast  away ; 

The  rocks  with  pearls  were  strown, 
And,  strangely  sad,  the  ruby's  ray 

Flashed  out  o'er  fretted  stone. 
And  gold  was  strown  the  wet  sands  o'er, 

Like  ashes  by  a  breeze, 
And  gorgeous  robes :  but  oh !  that  shore 

Had  sadder  things  than  these. 


456  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

We  saw  the  strong  man  still  and  low, 

A  crushed  reed  thrown  aside; 
Yet,  by  that  rigid  lip  and  brow, 

Not  without  strife  he  died 
And  near  him,  on  the  sea-weed  lay — 

Till  then  we  had  not  wept— 
But  well  our  gushing  hearts  might  say, 

That  there  a  mother  slept. 

For  her  pale  arms  a  babe  had  pressed, 

With  such  a  wreathing  grasp, 
Billows  had  dashed  o'er  that  fond  breast, 

Yet  not  undone  the  clasp. 
Her  very  tresses  had  been  flung, 

To  wrap  the  fair  child's  form, 
Where  still  their  wet,  long  streamers  clung, 

All  tangled  by  the  storm. 

And  beautiful,  'mid  that  wild  scene, 

Gleamed  up  the  boy's  dead  face, 
Like  slumber's,  trustingly  serene, 

In  melancholy  grace. 
Deep  in  her  bosom  lay  his  head, 

With  half-shut  violet  eye  : 
He  had  known  little  of  her  dread, 

Naught  of  her  agony. 

Oh,  human  love !  whose  yearning  heart, 

Through  all  things  vainly  true, 
So  stamps  upon  thy  mortal  part 

Its  passionate  adieu! 
Surely  thou  hast  another  lot, 

There  is  some  home  for  thee, 
Where  thou  shalt  rest,  remembering  not 

The  moaning  of  the  sea! 

FROM  MRS.  HEMANS. 


CCLXVIL— ONLY  ONE  NIGHT  AT  SEA. 

''ONLY  one  night  at  sea,"  'twas  thus  the  promise  ran, 

By  frail,  presumptuous  mortal  given,  to  vain,  confiding  man; 

"  Only  one  night  at  sea,  and  land  shall  bless  thy  sight, 
When  morning's  rays  dispel  the  shadows  of  the  night." 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  457 

The  pledge  has  been  received,  the  vessel  leaves  the  shore, 
Bearing  the   beautiful   and   brave,   who  ne'er   shall  greet   us 
more; 

And  every  heart  beats  high,  as  bounding  o'er  the  wave, 
The  gallant  bark  moves  on  to  bear  them  to  their  grave. 

The  merry  beams  of  day  before  the  darkness  flee, 

And  gloomy  night  comes  slowly  on,  that  "only  night  at  sea.'1 

The  watch  upon  the  deck  their  weary  vigils  keep, 

And  countless  stars  look  down  in  beauty  o'er  the  deep. 

Within  that  stately  boat  the  prattler's  voice  is  still, 
And  beauty's  lovely  form  is  there,  unheeding  of  the  ill; 

And  manhood's  vigorous  mind  is  wrapped  in  deep  repose, 
And  sorrow's  victim  lies  forgetful  of  his  woes. 

But,  hark!  that  fearful  sound,  that  wild  appalling  cry, 

That  wakes  the  sleepers  from  their  dreams,  and  rouses  them 
— to  die: 

Ah,  who  shall  tell  the  hopes  that  rose,  so  soon  to  flee; 
The  good  resolves  destroyed  by  that  "one  night  at  sea!" 

That  hour  hath  passed  away,  the  morning's  beams  are  bright, 
As  if  they  met  no  record  there  of  that  all-fearful  night ; 

But  many  souls  have  fled  to  far  eternity, 

And  many  hearts  been  wrecked  in  that  "  one  night  at  sea." 

Great  God !  whose  hand  hath  launched  our  boat  upon  life's  sea. 
And  given  us  as  a  pilot  there  a  spirit  bold  and  free, 

So  guide  us  with  thy  love,  that  our  frail  bark  may  be, 
'Mid  waves  of  doubt  and  fear,  "  only  one  night  at  sea." 


CCLXVIIL— ENNUL 

ENNUI;  (pro  Ang-we,)  languor,  heaviness. 
CAMP AC NA;  pro.  Campdhriya. 

Leech.     BUT  you  don't  laugh.     Come,  man,  be  amused, 
for  once  in  your  life!     You  don't  laugh. 

Sir  Charles.     0,  yes,  I   do.     You    mistake.     I    laughed 
twice,  distinctly, — only,  the  fact  is,  I  am  bored  to  death  ! 
NEW  EC.  S.— 39 


45B  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Leech.  Bored  ?  What !  after  such  a  feast  as  that  you 
have  given  us?  Look  at  me,  I'm  inspired!  I'm  a  king 
at  this  moment,  and  all  the  world  is  at  my  feet ! 

Sir  C.  My  dear  Leech,  you  began  life  late.  You  are 
a  young  fellow,  forty- five,  and  have  the  world  yet  before 
you.  I  started  at  thirteen,  lived  quick,  and  exhausted  the 
whole  round  of  pleasure  before  I  was  thirty.  I've  tried 
everything,  heard  everything,  done  everything,  know  every- 
thing; and  here  I  am,  a  man  of  thirty,  literally  used  up. 

Leech.  Nonsense,  man !  used  up,  indeed !  with  your 
wealth,  with  your  twenty  estates  in  the  sunniest  spots  in 
England,  not  to  mention  that  Utopia,  within  four  walls,  i» 
the  Rue  de  Provence,  in  Paris. 

Sir  C.     I'm  dead  with  ennui! 

Leech.     Ennui !   poor  Croesus  ! 

Sir  C.  Croesus*!  no,  I'm  no  Croesus!  My  father, — 
you've  seen  his  portrait,  good  old  fellow! — he  certainly 
did  leave  me  a  little  matter  of  twelve  thousand  pounds  a 
year ;  but,  after  all — 

Leech.     O,  come  ! 

Sir  O.     O,  I  do  n't  complain  of  it. 

Leech.     I  should  think  not. 

Sir  C.  O,  no;  there  are  some  people  who  can  manage 
to  do  on  less,  on  credit. 

Leech.  I  know  several.  My  dear  friend,  you  should 
try  change  of  scene. 

Sir  C.     I  have  tried  it;  what's  the  use? 

Leech.     But  I'd  gallop  all  over  Europe. 

Sir  C.     I  have;   there's  nothing  in  it. 

Leech.     Nothing  in  all  Europe? 

Sir  C.  Nothing !  0,  dear,  yes !  I  remember,  at  one 
time,  I  did,  somehow,  go  about  a  good  deal. 

Leech.     You  should  go  to  Switzerland. 

Sir  C.  I  have  been.  Nothing  there.  People  say  so 
much  about  everything.  There  certainly  were  a  few 
glaciers,  some  monks,  and  large  dogs,  and  thick  ankles, 
and  bad  wine,  and  Mont  Blanc ;  yes,  and  there  was  ice  on 
the  top,  too  ;  but  I  prefer  the  ice  at  Gunter's,  less  trouble, 
and  more  in  it. 


ECLECTIC   SEfclES.  459 

Leech.     Then,  if  Switzerland  wouldn't  do,  I'd  try  Italy. 

Sir  C.  My  dear  Leech,  I've  tried  it  over  and  over  again, 
and  what  then  ? 

Leech.     Did  not  Rome  inspire  you? 

Sir  C.  0,  believe  me,  Tom,  a  most  horrible  hole ! 
People  talk  so  much  about  these  things.  There's  the 
Colosseum,  now;  round,  very  round,  a  goodish  ruin,  enough  ; 
but  I  was  disappointed  with  it.  Capitol,  tolerable  high ; 
and  St.  Peter's,  marble,  and  mosaics,  and  fountains,  dome 
certainly  not  badly  scooped  ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  it. 

Leech.  Come,  Coldstream,  you  must  admit  we  have 
nothing  like  St.  Peter's  in  London. 

Sir  C.  No,  because  we  don't  want  it.  If  we  wanted 
such  a  thing,  of  course  we  should  have  it.  A  dozen  gen- 
tlemen meet,  pass  resolutions,  institute,  and  in  twelve 
months  it  would  be  run  up.  Nay,  if  that  were  all,  we'd 
buy  St.  Peter's  itself,  and  have  it  sent  over. 

Leech.  Ha,  ha!  well  said;  you're  quite  right.  What 
say  you  to  beautiful  Naples  ? 

Sir  (7.  Not  bad ;  excellent  water-melons,  and  goodish 
opera ;  they  took  me  up  Vesuvius ;  a  horrid  bore !  It 
smoked  a  good  deal,  certainly,  but  altogether  a  wretched 
mountain ;  saw  the  crater ;  looked  down,  but  there  was 
nothing  in  it. 

Leech.     But  the  bay? 

Sir  C.     Inferior  to  Dubliv  I 

Leech.     The  Canjpagna? 

Sir  C.     A  swamp  ! 

Leech.     Greece  ? 

Sir  C.     A  morass  ! 

Leech.     Athens? 

Sir  C.     A  bad  Edinburgh ! 

Leech.     Egypt  ? 

Sir  C.     A  desert ! 

Leech.     The  Pyramids? 

Sir  C.  Humbugs !  nothing  in  any  of  them  !  You  bore 
me.  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  not  invent  something  that 
would  make  my  blood  boil  in  my  veins,  my  hair  stand  on 
end,  my  heart  beat,  my  pulse  rise ;  that  would  produce  an 


460  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

excitement,  an  emotion,  a  sensation,  a  palpitation?  but, 
no ! 

Leech.     I've  an  idea  ! 

Sir  0.     You?     What  is  it? 

Leech.     Marry ! 

Sir  G.  Hum !  well,  not  bad.  There 's  novelty  about 
the  notion.  It  never  struck  me.  O,  but,  no.  I  should 
be  bored  with  the  exertion  of  choosing.  If  a  wife,  now, 
could  be  had  like  a  dinner,  for  ordering. 

Leech.  She  can,  by  you.  Take  the  first  woman  that 
comes.  On  my  life,  she  '11  not  refuse  twelve  thousand 
pounds  a  year. 

Sir  C.  Come,  I  don't  dislike  the  project.  I  almost  feel 
something  like  a  sensation  coming.  I  haven't  felt  so  ex- 
cited for  some  time.  'Tis  a  novel  enjoyment!  a  surprise! 
I  '11  try  it !  FROM  CHARLES  MATHEWS. 


CCLXIX.— THE  MODERN  BELLE. 

SHE  sits  in  a  fashionable  parlor, 

And  rocks  in  her  easy-chair, 
She  is  dressed  in  silks  and  satins, 

And  jewels  are  in  her  hair; 
She  winks,  and  giggles,  and  simpers, 

And  simpers,  and  giggles,  and  winks; 
And  though  she  talks  but  little, 

It  is  vastly  more  than  she  thinks. 

She  lies  in  bed  of  a  morning 

Till  nearly  the  hour  of  noon, 
Then  comes  down,  snapping  and  snarling, 

Because  she's  called  too  soon. 
Her  hair  is  still  in  papers, 

Her  cheeks  still  fresh  with  paint ; 
Remains  of  last  night's  blushes 

Before  she  attempted  to  faint. 

Her  feet  are  so  very  little, 
Her  hands  are  so  very  white, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  461 

Her  jewels  so  very  heavy, 

And  her  head  so  very  light; 
Her  color  is  made  of  cosmetics; 

Though  this  she  never  will  own; 
Her  body's  made  mostly  of  cotton, 

And  her  heart's  made  wholly  of  stone. 

She  falls  in  love  with  a  fellow 

Who  swells  with  a  foreign  air; 
He  marries  her  for  her  money, 

She  marries  him  for  his  hair. 
One  of  the  very  best  matches, 

Both  are  well  mated  in  life ; 
She's  got  a  fool  for  a  husband, 

And  he's  got  a  fool  for  a  wife. 


CCLXX.— THE  EMBARGO. 

EMBARGO;  a  prohibition  of  the  entrance  or  departure  of  all  kinds 
of  vessels.  It  is  intended  to  destroy  the  commerce  of  an  enemy,  but 
often,  as  in  the  war  of  1812,  does  great  injury  to  the  party  order- 
ing it. 

I  ASK  in  what  page  of  the  constitution  you  find  the 
power  of  laying  an  embargo.  Directly  given,  it  is  nowhere. 
Never  before  did  society  witness  a  total  prohibition  of  all 
intercourse  like  this,  in  a  commercial  nation.  But  it  has 
been  asked  in  debate,  "Will  not  Massachusetts,  the  cradle 
of  liberty,  submit  to  such  privations?"  An  embargo  liberty 
was  never  cradled  in  Massachusetts.  Our  liberty  was  not  so 
much  a  mountain  nymph  as  a  sea  nymph.  She  was  free  as 
air.  She  could  swim,  or  she  could  run.  The  ocean  was 
her  cradle.  But  an  embargo  liberty,  a  hand-cuffed  liberty, 
liberty  in  fetters,  a  liberty  traversing  between  the  four  sides 
of  a  prison  and  beating  her  head  against  the  walls,  is  none 
of  our  offspring.  We  abjure  the  monster !.  Its  parentage 
is  all  inland. 

Is  embargo  independence?  Deceive  not  yourselves!  It 
is  palpable  submission  !  Gentlemen  exclaim,  "  Great  Bri- 
tain smites  us  on  one  cheek !"  And  what  does  Adminis- 


462  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

tration  ?  "  It  turns  the  other,  also."  Gentlemen  say, 
"  Great  Britain  is  a  robber;  she  takes  our  cloak."  And 
what  says  Administration?  "  Let  her  take  our  coat  also." 
France  and  Great  Britain  require  you  to  relinquish  a  part 
of  your  commerce,  and  you  yield  it  entirely !  At  every 
corner  of  this  great  city  we  meet  some  gentlemen  of  the 
majority  wringing  their  hands,  and  exclaiming,  "What 
shall  we  do  ?  Nothing  but  an  embargo  will  save  us.  Ee- 
move  it,  and  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

It  is  not  for  me,  a  humble  and  uninfluential  individual, 
at  an  awful  distance  from  the  predominant  influences,  to 
suggest  plans  of  government.  But,  to  my  eye,  the  path 
of  our  duty  is  as  distinct  as  the  Milky  Way ;  all  studded 
with  living  sapphires,  glowing  with  cumulating  light.  It  is 
the  path  of  active  preparation  ;  of  dignified  energy.  It  is 
the  path  of  1776  !  It  consists  not  in  abandoning  our  rights, 
but  in  supporting  them,  as  they  exist,  and  where  they  exist; 
on  the  ocean,  as  well  as  on  the  land. 

But  I  shall  be  told,  "  This  may  lead  to  war."  I  ask, 
"Are  we  now  at  peace?"  Certainly  not,  unless  retiring 
from  insult  be  peace ;  unless  shrinking  under  the  lash  be 
peace.  The  surest  way  to  prevent  war  is  not  to  fear  it. 
The  idea  that  nothing  on  earth  is  so  dreadful  as  war  is 
inculcated  too  studiously  among  us.  Disgrace  is  worse ! 

Abandonment  of  essential  rights  is  worse! 

FROM  QUINCY. 


CCLXXL— POLITICAL  CORRUPTION. 

OF  all  the  forms,  in  which  corruption  can  present  itself, 
the  bribery  of  office  is  the  most  dangerous,  because  it  as- 
sumes the  guise  of  patriotism  to  accomplish  its  fatal  sor- 
cery. We  are  often  asked,  where  is  the  evidence  of  cor- 
ruption ?  Have  you  seen  it?  Do  you  expect  to  see  it?  You 
might  as  well  expect  to  see  the  embodied  forms  of  pesti- 
lence and  famine  stalking  before  you,  as  to  see  the  latent 
operations  of  this  insidious  power.  We  may  walk  amid 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  463 

it,  and  breathe  its  contagion,  without  being  conscious  of  its 
presence. 

All  experience  teaches  us  the  irresistible  power  of  temp- 
tation, when  vice  assumes  the  form  of  virtue.  The  great 
enemy  of  mankind  could  not  have  consummated  his  infernal 
scheme,  for  the  seduction  of  our  first  parents,  but  for  the 
disguise  in  which  he  presented  himself.  Had  he  appeared 
as  the  devil,  in  his  proper  form ;  had  the  spear  of  Ithuriel 
disclosed  the  naked  deformity  of  the  fiend  of  hell,  the  in- 
habitants of  paradise  would  have  shrunk  with  horror  from 
his  presence. 

But  he  came  as  the  insinuating  serpent,  and  presented 
a  beautiful  apple,  the  most  delicious  fruit  in  all  the  garden. 
He  told  his  glowing  story  to  the  unsuspecting  victim  of 
his  guile;  "It  can  be  no  crime  to  taste  of  this  delightful 
fruit ;  it  will  disclose  to  you  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil ;  it  will  raise  you  to  an  equality  with  the  angels." 

Such  was  the  process.  In  this  simple,  but  impressive 
narrative,  we  have  the  most  beautiful  and  philosophical 
illustration  of  the  frailty  of  man,  and  the  power  of  tempta- 
tion, that  could  possibly  be  exhibited.  I  have  been  forcibly 
struck  with  the  similarity  between  our  present  situation  and 
that  of  Eve,  after  it  was  announced  that  Satan  was  on  the 
borders  of  paradise.  We,  too,  have  been  warned,  that  the 
enemy  is  on  our  borders. 

But,  God  forbid  that  the  similitude  should  be  carried  any 
further.  Eve,  conscious  of  her  innocence,  sought  tempta- 
tion and  defied  it.  The  catastrophe  is  too  fatally  known  to 
us  all.  She  went  "  with  the  blessings  of  heaven  on  her 
head,  and  its  purity  in  her  heart,"  guarded  by  the  minis- 
try of  angels;  she  returned,  covered  with  shame,  under  the 
heavy  denunciation  of  heaven's  everlasting  curse.  It  is 
innocence  that  temptation  conquers.  If  our  first  parent, 
pure  as  she  came  from  the  hand  of  God,  was  overcome  by 
the  seductive  power,  let  us  not  imitate  her  fatal  rashness, 
seeking  temptation  when  it  is  in  our  power  to  avoid  it. 
Let  us  not  vainly  confide  in  our  own  infallibility. 

FROM  M'DUFFIE. 


464  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCLXXIL— PARTY  SPIRIT. 

THE  WHITE  HOUSE;  the  residence  of  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  CREVASSE;  (Cre-vas,)  a  break  in  the  banks  of  a  river,  per- 
mitting the  waler  to  pass  through. 

NEVER,  on  any  occasion,  have  I  risen  tinder  feelings  of 
such  painful  solicitude.  I  have  witnessed  many  periods  of 
great  anxiety,  of  peril,  and  of  danger,  to  this  country,  but 
I  have  never  risen  to  address  any  assemblage,  so  oppressed, 
so  appalled,  and  so  anxious.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  out  of 
place  to  do  here,  what,  again  and  again,  I  have  done  in  my 
private  chamber,  to  implore  of  Him  who  holds  the  desti- 
nies of  nations  and  individuals  in  his  hands,  to  bestow 
upon  our  country  His  blessing,  to  calm  the  violence  and 
rage  of  party,  to  still  passion,  to  allow  reason  once  more 
to  resume  its  empire. 

I  have  said  that  I  have  witnessed  other  anxious  periods  in 
the  history  of  our  country.  If  I  were  to  venture  to  trace 
to  their  original  source  the  cause  of  all  our  present  dan- 
gers, difficulties,  and  distraction,  I  should  ascribe  it  to  the 
violence  of  party  spirit!  of  party  spirit! 

It  is  impossible  for  us  to  be  blind  to  the  facts  which  are 
daily  transpiring  before  us.  It  is  impossible  for  us  not  to 
perceive  that  party  spirit,  and  future  elevation,  mix,  more 
or  less,  in  all  our  affairs,  in  all  our  deliberations.  At  a 
moment  when  the  White  House  itself  is  in  danger  of  con- 
flagration, instead  of  all  hands  uniting  to  extinguish  the 
flames,  we  are  contending  about  who  shall  be  its  next  occu- 
pant. When  a  dreadful  crevasse  has  occurred,  which  threat- 
ens inundation  and  destruction  to  all  around,  we  are  con- 
testing and  disputing  about  the  profits  of  an  estate  which 
is  threatened  with  total  submersion. 

It  is  passion,  passion ;  party,  party,  and  intemperance. 
That  is  all  I  dread  in  the  adjustment  of  the  great  questions 
which,  unhappily,  at  this  time,  divide  our  distracted  coun- 
try. At  this  moment^  we  have  in  the  legislative  bodies  of 
this  Capitol  and  in  the  States,  twenty  odd  furnaces  in  full 
blast,  emitting  heat,  and  passion,  and  intemperance,  and 


EOLECTIC   SERIES.  465 

diffusing  them  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  this  broad 
land.  Two  months  ago,  all  was  calm  in  comparison  to  the 
present  moment.  All  now  is  uproar,  confusion,  and  menace 
to  the  existence  of  the  Union,  and  to  the  happiness  and 
safety  of  the  people. 

I  implore  senators,  I  entreat  them,  by  all  that  they  ex- 
pect hereafter,  and  by  all  that  is  dear  to  them  here  below, 
to  repress  the  ardor  of  these  passions,  to  look  to  their 
country,  to  its  interests,  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  reason. 
I  implore  them  to  listen  to  their  own  reason,  their  own 
judgment,  their  own  good  sense,  in  determining  upon  what 
is  best  to  be  done  for  our  country,  in  the  actual  posture  in 
which  we  find  her.  FROM  HENRY  CLAY. 


CCLXXIII.— NATIONAL  ANTIPATHIES. 

I  PROTEST  against  the  doctrine,  that  the  predominant 
sentiment  of  our  people,  is  one  of  implacable  hatred  to  any 
nation.  I  deny  this,  and  protest  against  it.  I  say  no,  no, 
a  thousand  times  no,  to  any  sentiment  of  national  anti- 
pathy. 

Let  the  Highland  clansman  feel  it,  who  cherishes  a 
deadly  feud,  as  he  cherishes  his  own  life.  Let  the  Indian 
hand  it  down  to  his  children,  by  I  know  not  what  emblems 
of  alligators,  and  catamounts,  and  clubs,  and  tomahawks, 
smeared  with  the  warm  blood  and  brains  of  his  victims. 
Let  Poland,  cloven  down  by  oppression,  with  the  grinding 
heel  of  tyranny  on  her  forehead,  deliver  it  as  a  pledge  and 
memorial  to  her  wandering  exiles.  Let  the  poor  dispersed 
family  of  Israel  hug  it  to  their  bosom,  as  they  feel  the 
contempt  of  a  hostile  world. 

But  should  this  American  people,  young,  and  inheriting 
from  God's  hand,  a  land  teeming  with  every  boon  and 
bounty  of  his  munificence,  destined  to  a  career,  bright,  resist- 
less, and  beneficent  as  the  course  of  the  heavenly  spheres; 
shall  America,  in  the  dew  and  freshness  of  her  national 
being,  glorious  and  happy,  shall  she  corrode  her  young 


466  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

heart,  and  poison  its  life  streams,  by  moping  over  the 
stamp  act,  and  the  tea  tax,  and  the  firing  of  the  Leopard 
into  the  Chesapeake? 

God  forbid !  I  think  we  have  settled  all  that.  For  what 
else  was  so  much  patriot  blood  spilt  at  Lundy's  Lane,  at 
Bridgewater,  and  Plattsburg,  on  the  deck  of  the  Constitu- 
tion and  the  Java,  and  on  all  the  other  spots  hallowed  by 
the  record  of  our  fame?  And  after  we  have  settled  it,  and 
done  it  boldly  and  bravely,  shall  we  return  sulky  from  the 
very  field  of  honor  ? 

We  have  been  told  that  our  people  feel  too  deeply  the 
remembrance  of  the  past  injuries  of  Britain.  How  so?  If 
the  feeling  is  worthy  of  us,  can  it  be  too  deep,  or  too 
strong,  in  our  bosoms?  But,  if  it  is  an  unworthy  feeling, 
and  has  no  real  existence  among  us,  how  does  any  man 
dare  to  charge  it  upon  the  American  people  ?  I  do  believe 
that  this  is  a  feeling  which  belongs  altogether  to  a  past 
age.  My  younger  countrymen  do  not,  I  am  very  sure, 
know  what  such  a  feeling  means. 

You  were  born  under  happier  auspices,  than  to  be  the 
slaves  of  so  sordid  and  dark  a  passion.  You  look  upon 
England  as  you  do  upon  other  great  nations,  with  eyes 
which  fill  with  tears,  not  of  sorrow,  but  of  emulation  of  so 
much  glory,  and  with  no  hatred.  You  never  can  brand 
their  heart  with  so  barbarous  a  feeling,  for  the  sake  of 
wrongs  for  which  the  brave  have  made  the  last  expiation  to 
the  brave.  FROM  CHOATE. 


CCLXXIV.— ON  THE  SUPPRESSION  OF  A  MOB. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  a  speech  delivered  in  the  English  parlia- 
ment, upon  a  bill  to  punish  the  weavers  of  Nottingham  for  riot. 

You  call  these  men  a  mob,  desperate,  dangerous,  and 
ignoble.  You  seem  to  think,  that  the  only  way  to  quiet  it, 
is  to  lop  off  a  few  of  its  superfluous  heads.  But  even  a 
mob  may  be  better  reduced  to  reason  by  a  mixture  of  con- 
ciliation and  firmness,  than  by  additional  irritation  and 
redoubled  penalties.  Are  we  aware  of  our  obligations  to  a 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  467 

mob?  It  is  the  mob  that  labor  in  your  fields,  and  serve 
in  your  houses ;  that  man  your  navy,  and  recruit  your 
army;  that  have  enabled  you  to  defy  all  the  world;  and 
can  also  defy  you,  when  neglect  and  calumny  have  driven 
them  to  despair.  You  may  call  the  people  a  mob,  but  do 
not  forget  that  a  mob  too  often  speak  the  sentiments  of  the 
people. 

Setting  aside  the  palpable  injustice  and  the  certain  inef- 
ficiency of  the  bill,  are  there  not  capital  punishments  suf- 
ficient on  your  statutes  ?  Is  there  not  blood  enough  upon 
your  penal  code,  that  more  must  be  poured  forth  to  ascend 
to  heaven,  and  testify  against  you?  How  will  you  carry 
this  bill  into  effect?  Can  you  commit  a  whole  country  to 
their  own  prisons?  Will  you  erect  a  gibbet  in  every  field, 
and  hang  up  men  like  scarecrows  ?  Or  will  you  proceed, 
by  decimation  ?  place  the  country  under  martial  law  ?  de- 
populate and  lay  waste  all  around  you? 

Are  these  the  remedies  for  a  starving  and  desperate 
populace?  Will  the  famished  wretch  who  has  braved  your 
bayonets,  be  appalled  by  your  gibbets?  When  death  is  a 
relief,  and  the  only  relief  it  appears  that  you  will  afford 
him,  will  he  be  dragooned  into  tranquillity?  Will  that, 
which  could  not  be  effected  by  your  grenadiers,  be  accom- 
plished by  your  executioners? 

With  all  deference  to  the  noble  lords  opposite,  I  think  a 
little  investigation,  some  previous  inquiry,  would  induce 
even  them  to  change  their  purpose.  That  most  favorite 
state  measure,  so  marvelously  efficacious  in  many  and  re- 
cent instances, — temporizing, — would  not  be  without  its 
advantage  in  this.  When  a  proposal  is  made  to  emancipate 
or  relieve,  you  hesitate,  you  deliberate  for  years,  you  tem- 
porize, and  tamper  with  the  minds  of  men.  But  a  death- 
bill  must  be  passed  off-hand,  without  a  thought  of  the 
consequences.  Sure  I  am,  that  to  pass  the  bill,  would  only 
add  injustice  to  irritation,  and  barbarity  to  neglect. 

But  suppose  it  passed.  Suppose  one  of  these  men, 
meager  with  famine,  sullen  with  despair,  careless  of  a  life 
which  your  lordships  are,  perhaps,  about  to  value  at  some- 
thing less  than  the  price  of  a  stocking-frame ;  suppose  this 


468  MCQUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

man  surrounded  by  those  children  for  whom  he  is  unable 
to  procure  bread,  at  the  hazard  of  his  existence,  dragged 
into  court  to  be  tried  for  this  new  offense,  by  this  new 
law;  still  there  are  two  things  wanting  to  convict  and  con- 
demn him.  These  are,  in  my  opinion,  twelve  butchers  for 
&  jury,  and  a  Jeffreys  for  &  judge!  FROM  BYRON. 


CCLXXV.— THE  MURDERED  TRAVELER. 

WHEN  spring,  to  woods  and  wastes  around, 

Brought  bloom  and  joy  again, 
The  murdered  traveler's  bones  were  found, 

Far  down  a  narrow  glen. 

The  fragrant  birch  above  him  hung 

Her  tassels  in  the  sky ; 
And  many  a  vernal  blossom  sprung, 

And  nodded  careless  by. 

The  red-bird  warbled  as  he  wrought 

His  hanging  nest  o'erhead; 
And  fearless,  near  the  fatal  spot, 

Her  young  the  partridge  led. 

But  there  was  weeping  far  away, 

And  gentle  eyes,  for  him, 
With  watching  many  an  anxious  day, 

Grew  sorrowful  and  dim. 

They  little  knew,  who  loved  him  so, 

The  fearful  death  he  met, 
When  shouting  o'er  the  desert  snow, 

Unarmed,  and  hard  beset; 

Nor  how,  when  round  the  frosty  pole 

The  northern  dawn  was  red, 
The  mountain  wolf  and  wild  cat  stole 

To  banquet  on  the  dead; 

Nor  how,  when  strangers  found  his  bones, 

They  dressed  the  hasty  bier, 
And  marked  his  grave  with  nameless  stones, 

Unmoistened  by  a  tear. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  469 

But  long  they  looked,  and  feared,  and  wept, 

Within  his  distant  home; 
And  dreamed,  and  started  as  they  slept, 

For  joy  that  he  was  come. 

So  long  they  looked,  but  never  spied 

His  welcome  step  again, 
Nor  knew  the  fearful  death  he  died 

Far  down  that  narrow  glen. 


CCLXXVI— THE  DEATH-FIKE. 

BENEATH  the  ever  dense  and  leafy  gloom 

Of  the  hushed  wilderness  a  lurid  flame 

Crept,  like  a  serpent,  gorged  with  kindling  blood, 

Around  the  knotted  trunk  of  an  old  forest  oak; 

Then  upward  and  abroad  it  fiercely  spread, 

Through  the  dusk  pine-tops  and  the  clinging  vines, 

Till  the  dark  forest  crimsoned  with  the  glare. 

In  double  ranks  around  that  flaming  tree, 
Sat  fierce-browed  warriors,  like  a  crowd  of  fiends, 
Sent  forth  to  hold  their  orgies  on  the  earth. 
Their  shafted  arrows,  and  the  sinewy  bow, 
The  tomahawk,  and  club,  and  keen-edged  knife, 
Flashed  back  the  fire. 

The  sparkling  river,  flowing  with  sweet  chime, 
So  cool  and  tranquil  in  its  verdant  banks, 
Tn  gentle  contrast  with  the  flaming  trees, 
And  the  red  demons,  crouching  underneath. 
Mocked  the  devoted  victims. 

One  was  a  girl,  so  gently  fair, 

She  seemed  a  being  of  upper  air, 

Lured  by  the  sound  of  the  water's  swell, 

To  the  haunt  of  demons  dark  and  fell!          Y  i 

Shackled  by  many  a  galling  thong, 

But,  in  Christian  courage,  firm  and  strong, 

Stood  a  brave  man,  with  his  eye  on  fire, 

As  he  bent  its  glance  on  the  funeral  pyre; 

Yet  his  bosom  heaved  and  his  heart  beat  quick: 

His  labored  breath  came,  fast  and  thick; 


470  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

His  cheek  grew  pale,  and  drops  of  pain 
Sprang  to  his  brow,  like  beaded  rain, 
As  he  felt  the  clasp  of  his  pallid  bride, 
Where  she  clung  in  fear  to  his  pinioned  side. 

A  savage  shout,  a  fierce,  deep  yell, 

Kings  through  the  forest  cove  and  dell. 

The  wood  is  alive  on  either  hand 

With  the  rushing  feet  of  that  murderous  band. 

One  start  from  the  earth,  one  feeble  cry, 

Like  the  moan  of  a  fawn,  when  the  hounds  are  nigh, 

And  she  sinks  to  the  ground  with  a  shuddering  thrill, 

And  lies  at  his  feet,  all  cold  and  still. 

With  the  mighty  strength  of  his  stern  despair, 
Like  a  lion,  roused  in  his  guarded  lair, 
The  youth  has  rended  his  bonds  apart! 
The  bride  is  snatched  to  his  throbbing  heart! 
With  a  bound,  he  clears  the  savage  crew, 
And  plunges  on  toward  the  bark  canoe. 
He  nears  the  bank;  a  fiendish  scream 
From  the  baffled  foes  rings  o'er  the  stream. 
He  springs  to  the  bark!  away,  away! 
It  is  lost  from  sight  in  the  flashing  spray! 
FROM  MRS.  STEPHENS. 


CCLXXVIL—  THE  MISER. 

AN  old  man  sat  at  a  fireless  hearth, 

Though  the  night  was  dark  and  chill, 
And  mournfully  over  the  frozen  earth 

The  wind  sobbed  loud  and  shrill. 
His  locks  were  white,  and  his  eyes  were  gray, 

And  dim,  but  not  with  tears ; 
And  his  skeleton  form  had  wasted  away 

With  penury,  more  than  years. 

A  rush-light  was  casting  its  fitful  glare 

O'er  the  damp  and  dingy  walls, 
Where  the  lizard  hath  made  his  slimy  lair, 

And  the  venomous  spider  crawls; 


ECLECTIC    SERIES. 

But  the  meanest  thing  in  this  lonesome  room 

Was  the  miser,  worn  and  bare, 
Where  he  sat,  like  a  ghost  in  an  empty  tomb, 

On  his  broken  and  only  chair. 

He  had  bolted  the  window,  and  barred  the  door, 

And  every  nook  had  scanned; 
And  felt  the  fastening  o'er  and  o'er, 

With  his  cold  and  skinny  hand; 
And  yet  he  sat  gazing  intently  round, 

And  trembled  with  silent  fear, 
And  startled  and  shuddered  at  every  sound 

That  fell  on  his  coward  ear. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  miser;  "I'm  safe  at  last, 

From  this  night  so  cold  and  drear, 
From  the  drenching  rain  and  driving  blast, 

With  my  gold  and  treasures  here. 
I  am  cold  and  wet  with  the  icy  rain, 

And  my  health  is  bad,  'tis  true; 
Yet  if  I  should  light  that  fire  again, 

It  would  cost  me  a  cent  or  two. 

But  I'll  take  a  sip  of  the  precious  wine; 

It  will  banish  my  cold  and  fears; 
It  was  given  long  since,  by  a  friend  of  mine, 

I  have  kept  it  for  many  years." 
So  he  drew  a  flask  from  a  moldy  nook, 

And  drank  of  its  ruby  tide;- 
And  his  eyes  grew  bright  with  each  draught  he  took, 

And  his  bosom  swelled  with  pride. 

He  turned  to  an  old  worm-eaten  chest, 

And  cautiously  raised  the  lid, 
And  then  it  shone,  like  the  clouds  of  the  west, 

With  the  sun  in  their  splendor  hid; 
And  gem  after  gem  in  precious  store, 

Is  raised  with  exulting  smile; 
And  he  counted  and  counted  them  o'er  and  o'er, 

In  many  a  glittering  pile. 

Why  comes  the  flush  to  his  pallid  brow, 
While  his  eyes  like  his  diamonds  shine? 

Why  writhes  he  thus  in  such  torture  now? 
What  was  there  in  the  wine? 


472  M°GUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

He  strove  his  lonely  seat  to  gain; 

To  crawl  to  his  nest  he  tried; 
But  finding  his  efforts  were  all  in  vain, 

He  clasped  his  gold,  and — died. 


CCLXXVIIL—  LOVE  OF  THE  WORLD. 

MOHAMMED  ;  pro.  Mo'-hammed. 

THUS  says  the  prophet  of  the  Turk, 
Good  Mussulman,  abstain  from  pork; 
There  is  a  part  in  every  swine 
No  friend  or  follower  of  mine 
May  taste,  whate'er  his  inclination, 
On  pain  of  excommunication. 

Such  Mohammed's  mysterious  charge, 
And  thus  he  left  the  point  at  large. 
Had  he  the  sinful  part,  expressed, 
They  might  with  safety  eat  the  rest; 
But  for  one  piece  they  thought  it  hard 
From  the  whole  hog  to  be  debarred; 
And  set  their  wit  at  work  to  find 
What  joint  the  prophet  had  in  mind. 

Much  controversy  straight  arose, 
These  chose  the  back,  the  belly  those; 
By  some  'tis  confidently  said, 
He  meant  not  to  forbid  the  head; 
While  others  at  that  doctrine  rail, 
And  piously  prefer  the  tail. 
Thus,  conscience  freed  from  every  clog, 
Mohammedans  eat  up  the  hog. 

You  laugh;  'tis  well.     The  tale  applied 

May  make  you  laugh  on  't  other  side. 

Renounce  the  world,  the  preacher  cries. 

We  do,  a  multitude  replies. 

While  one  as  innocent  regards 

A  snug  and  friendly  game  at  cards; 

And  one,  whatever  you  may  say, 

Can  see  no  evil  in  a  play; 

Some  love  a  concert  or  a  race; 

And  others  shooting  and  the  chase. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  473 

Reviled  and  loved,  renounced  and  followed, 
Thus,  bit  by  bit,  the  world  is  swallowed; 
Each  thinks  his  neighbor  makes  too  free, 
Yet  likes  a  slice  as  well  as  he; 
With  sophistry  their  sauce  they  sweeten, 
Till  quite  from  tail  to  snout  'tis  eaten. 

FROM  COWPER. 


CCLXXIX.— SELF  INTEREST. 

CHARACTERS. — Lovepoor,  the  Host;  the  Hostess;  Betty,  the  servant 
maid;  Surgeon;  and  Stranger. 

(Enter  Hostess  and  Betty.) 

Hostess.     BETTY  ! 

Betty.    Here,  madam. 

Host.     Where's  your  master? 

Betty.  He's  without,  madam  ;  and  has  sent  me  for  some 
clothes  to  lend  a  poor  man,  who  has  been  robbed  and 
murdered  on  the  road. 

Host.  Touch  them  if  you  dare,  you  jade !  Your  mas- 
ter is  a  pretty  sort  of  a  man  to  take  in  vagabonds,  and 
clothe  them  with  his  own  clothes.  I'll  have  no  such  do- 
ings. If  you  touch  them,  I'll — I'll — I'll — Go  send  your 
master  to  me.  (Exit  Betty.)  Pretty  work,  pretty  work 
this,  truly.  We  should  make  fine  way  ahead,  if  my  hus- 
band were  at  the  helm. 

(Enter  Mr.  Lovepoor?) 

What  do  you  mean  by  this,  Mr.  Lovepoor?  Are  we  to 
buy  clothes  to  lend  to  a  set  of  pennyless  rascals? 

Lovepoor.     My  dear,  this  is  a  poor  wretch — 

Host.  I  know  it  is  a  poor  wretch,  but  what  have  we  to 
do  with  poor  wretches  ?  The  law  makes  us  provide  for  too 
many  already. 

Love.  My  dear,  this  man  has  been  robbed  of  all  he 
had. 

Host.     Well,  where 's   his   money  then,  to  pay  his  reck- 
oning?    Why  does  not  such  a  fellow  go   to  an  alehouse? 
I  shall  send  him  packing  immediately,  I  assure  you. 
NEW  EC.  S.—  40 


474  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW   SPEAKER. 

Love.  My  dear,  common  charity  will  not  suffer  you  to 
do  that. 

Host.  Common  charity,  indeed  !  Common  charity  teaches 
us  to  provide  for  ourselves  and  our  families,  and  I  and 
mine  are  not  to  be  ruined  by  your  charities,  I  assure  you. 

Love.  Well,  my  dear,  do  as  you  will,  you  know  I  never 
contradict  you. 

(Enter  Surgeon.} 

Surgeon.  I  come  to  acquaint  you  that  your  guest  is  in 
such  extreme  danger,  that  I  can  scarcely  see  any  hopes  of 
his  recovery. 

Host.  Here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  you  have  brought 
upon  us !  We  are  like  to  have  a  funeral  at  our  own  ex- 
pense. 

Love.  My  dear,  I  am  not  to  blame.  He  was  brought 
hither  by  the  stage  coach,  and  Betty  had  taken  him  in  be- 
fore I  was  stirring. 

Host.     And  what  induced  Tom  Whipwell  to  bring  such 
guests  to  my  house,  when  there  are  so  many  ale-houses  on 
the  road,  proper  for  their  reception. 
(Enter  Betty.) 

Betty.  The  wounded  man  begs  you  for  mercy-sake  to 
let  him  have  a  little  tea. 

Host.  Tea,  indeed !  Nothing  will  serve  his  delicate 
stomach,  then,  but  tea.  Tea  costs  money,  tell  him.  But 
there  is  a  carriage  at  the  door.  Run,  Lovepoor,  and  lead 
them  into  the  best  parlor.  La !  how  neglectful  you  are, 
Mr.  Lovepoor.  Here  is  the  gentleman  now. 
(Enter  a  Stranger,  in  a  cloak.) 

Betty,  go  and  tell  the  murdered  man  to  pack  up  and 
be  off,  and  make  something  ready  for  this  gentleman's  sup- 
per. 

Stranger.     What  murdered  man  do  you  speak  of? 

Host.  O,  sir,  only  a  poor  wretch  who  was  knocked 
down  and  robbed  on  the  high  road  a  few  hours  ago. 

Stran.  Are  there  no  hopes  of  his  recovery? 

Sur,  I  defy  all  the  surgeons  in  London  to  do  him  any 
good. 

Stran.  Pray,  sir,  what  are  his  wounds? 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  475 

Sur.      Why,  do  you  know  any  thing  of  wounds? 

Stran.   Sir,  I  have  a  slight  acquaintance  with  surgery. 

Sur.  A  slight  acquaintance — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  I  believe 
it  is  a  slight  one,  indeed.  I  suppose,  sir,  you  have  traveled? 

Stran.  No,  sir. 

Sur.      Have  practiced  in  the  hospitals,  perhaps  ? 

Stran.  No,  sir. 

Sur.  Whence,  then,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  in- 
quire, have  you  got  your  knowledge  in  surgery? 

Stran.  Sir,  I  do  not  pretend  to  much,  but  the  little  I 
know  I  have  acquired  from  books. 

Sur.  Books  !  I  suppose,  then,  you  have  read  Galen 
and  Hippocrates. 

Stran.   No,  sir,  neither. 

Sur.  How,  understand  surgery  and  not  read  Galen  and 
Hippocrates  ! 

Stran.  Sir,  I  believe  there  are  many  surgeons  who  have 
never  read  these  authors. 

Sur.  I  believe  so  too,  more  shame  for  them.  But 
thanks  to  my  education,  I  have  them  by  heart  and  very 
seldom  go  without  them  both  in  my  pocket. 

Stran.  They  are  pretty  large  books,  though,  to  carry  in 
the  pocket. 

Sur.  Ay,  I  presume  I  know  how  large  they  are,  bet- 
ter than  you  do.  I  suppose  you  understand  physic  too,  as 
well  as  surgery.  (A  general  laugh.) 

Stran.  Kather  better. 

Sur.  Ay,  like  enough.  ( Winking.')  Why,  /  know  a 
little  of  physic  too. 

Love.  I  wish  I  knew  half  as  much.  I'd  never  wear  an 
apron  again. 

Sur.  Why,  I  believe,  landlord,  there  are  few  men, 
though  I  say  it,  who  handle  a  fever  better. 

Stran.  I  am  thoroughly  convinced,  sir,  of  your  great 
learning  and  skill,  but  I  will  thank  you  to  let  me  know 
your  opinion  of  the  patient's  case,  above  stairs. 

Sur.  Sir,  (with  great  solemnity,*)  his  case  is  that  of  a 
dead  man.  The  contusion  on  his  head  has  perforated  the 
internal  membrane  of  the  occiput,  and  divellicated  that 


476  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

radical,  small,  minute,  invisible  nerve,  which  coheres  to 
the  pericranium — • 

Stran.  That  will  do,  sir.  You  have  convinced  me  that 
you  are — 

Sur.      Are  what,  sir? 

Stran.  A  quack,  whose  aim  it  is  to  impose  upon  the 
ignorant  and  unfortunate. 

Sur.      And  what  are  you,  sir? 

Stran.  Dr.  Bland,  president  of  the  college  of  physicians, 
and  surgeon  to  Lord  Dixby,  who  has  just  been  robbed, 
and  lies  ill  in  this  house.  One  of  his  servants,  who 
escaped  when  the  robbery  was  committed,  brought  me  the 
information.  Your  servant,  sir.  (Speaking  to  the  Surgeon, 
who  is  making  toward  the  door.*)  Now,  landlord,  conduct 
me  to  your  guest.  (Exit  with  landlord.) 

Host.  Betty,  John,  Samuel,  where  are  you  all?  Have 
you  no  ears  or  no  consciences,  not  to  tend  the  sick  better? 
See  what  the  gentleman  wants.  But  any  one  may  die  for 
all  you.  You  have  no  more  feeling  than  my  husband.  If 
a  man  lived  a  fortnight  in  his  house  without  spending  a 
penny,  he  would  never  put  him  in  mind  of  it.  See  whether 
the  gentleman  drinks  tea  or  coffee  for  supper.  (Exit  servant.) 
(Enter  Mr.  Lovepoor.) 

Love.  My  dear,  this  wounded  traveler  must  be  a  greater 
man  than  we  took  him  for.  Some  servants  in  livery  have 
just  arrived,  and  inquired  for  him. 

Host.  God  forbid  that  I  should  not  discharge  the  duty 
of  a  Christian,  since  the  poor  gentleman  is  brought  to  our 
house.  I  have  a  natural  antipathy  to  vagabonds,  but  can 
pity  the  misfortunes  of  a  Christian  as  soon  as  another. 

Love.  If  the  traveler  be  a  gentleman,  though  he  have  no 
money  about  him  now,  we  shall  most  likely  be  paid  here- 
after. So  you  may  begin  to  score  as  soon  as  you  please. 

Host.  Hold  your  simple  tongue,  and  don't  pretend  to 
instruct  me  in  my  business.  I  am  sure  I  am  sorry  for  the 
gentleman's  misfortune  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  hope  the 
villains  who  have  used  him  so  barbarously,  will  be  hanged. 
Let  us  go  and  see  what  he  wants.  God  forbid  he  should 
want  any  thing  in  my  house.  (Exeunt.) 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  477 


CCLXXX.— ON  A  SYSTEM  OF  FINANCE. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  one  of  the  best  speeches  of  Mirabeau,  a 
member  of  the  French  Assembly,  upon  a  bill  to  save  the  nation  from 
bankruptcy. 

WE  have  heard  a  great  many  violent  speeches.  I  shall 
endeavor  to  direct  your  attention  to  a  few  simple  questions, 
and  earnestly  entreat  you  to  listen  to  them.  Has  not  the  minis- 
ter of  finances  drawn  a  most  alarming  picture  of  our  present 
situation?  Has  he  not  told  you  that  delay  must  aggravate 
the  evil,  that  a  day,  an  hour,  a  moment,  may  render  it  irre- 
mediable ?  Have  we  any  other  plan  to  substitute  for  the 
one  he  proposes?  One  of  this  assembly  answers,  Yes!  I 
conjure  that  member  to  recollect  that  his  plan  is  unknown, 
that  it  would  require  time  to  explain  and 'examine  it,  that 
were  it  now  in  discussion,  its  author  may  perhaps  be  mis- 
taken ;  or  if  not,  that  we  may  think  he  is,  and  that,  with- 
out the  concurrence  of  public  opinion,  the  greatest  possible 
talents  would  be  of  no  avail  in  the  present  circumstances. 

I,  too,  am  far  from  thinking  that  Mr.  Neckar  has  pro- 
posed the  best  possible  ways  and  means.  But  God  forbid 
that  at  this  critical  moment  I  should  place  my  views  in 
opposition  to  his.  However  preferable  I  may  think  them, 
I  know  that  it  is  in  vain  for  me  to  pretend  to  his  prodigious 
popularity,  to  his  long  experience,  to  his  reputation  of  the 
first  financier  in  Europe;  or  to  the  singular  and  unprece- 
dented good  fortune  which  has  marked  his  career. 

We  must  therefore  come  back  to  the  plan  of  Mr.  Neckar. 
But  why  adopt  it  without  deliberation?  Do  you  think, 
then,  that  we  have  time  to  examine  it  in  detail,  to  discuss 
the  principles,  and  go  over  all  the  calculations?  No,  no, 
a  thousand  times  no.  We  can  only  propose  insignificant 
questions  and  superficial  conjectures.  What,  then,  shall 
•we  do  by  deliberating?  Lose  the  decisive  moment,  involve 
ourselves  in  disputes  about  the  details  of  a  scheme,  which  we 
really  do  not  understand,  diminish,  by  our  idle  meddlings, 
the  minister's  credit,  which  is  and  ought  to  be  greater  than 
our  own. 


478  MCQUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

This  course  is  both  impolitic  and  dishonest.  I  would  ask 
those,  who  seem  to  be  accustoming  themselves  to  the  idea 
of  bankruptcy,  in  preference  to  excessive  taxes,  whether  a 
NATIONAL  BANKRUPTCY  is  not  itself  the  most  cruel,  the 
most  unjust,  the  most  ruinous  of  all  possible  taxes  ?  Two 
centuries  of  misgovernment  have  opened  a  gulf  of  ruin, 
which  threatens  immediate  destruction  to  the  monarchy.  This 

gulf  MUST  BE  CLOSED. 

I  exhort  you,  then,  most  earnestly  to  vote  these  extra- 
ordinary supplies,  and  God  grant  they  may  prove  sufficient. 
Vote  them  I  beseech  you.  Vote  them  at  once.  The  crisis 
does  not  admit  of  delay.  If  it  occurs,  we  must  be  responsi- 
ble for  the  consequences.  Bankruptcy,  national  bankruptcy 
is  before  you.  It  threatens  to  swallow  up  your  persons, 
your  property,  your  honor, — and  YET  YOU  DELIBERATE. 

FROM  MIRABEATJ. 


CCLXXXI.— HYDER  ALL 

CARNATIC  ;  a  portion  of  Southern  India. 

AMONG  the  victims  to  the  magnificent  plan  of  universal 
plunder  pursued  by  the  East  India  Company,  so  worthy  of 
the  heroic  avarice  of  the  projectors,  you  have  all  heard  of 
an  Indian  Chief  called  Hyder  Ali  Khan.  It  was  among  the 
leading  measures  in  the  design  of  this  company,  (according 
to  their  own  emphatic  language,)  to  extirpate  this  Hyder 
Ali.  But  their  victim  was  not  of  the  passive  kind.  They 
were  soon  obliged  to  conclude  a  treaty  of  peace  and  close 
alliance  with  this  rebel,  at  the  gates  of  Madras. 

From  that  time  forward,  however,  a  continued  plot  was 
carried  on  for  the  destruction  of  Hyder  Ali.  When  at 
length  he  found  that  he  had  to  do  with  men  whom  no 
treaty  and  no  signature  could  bind,  and  who  were  the  de- 
termined enemies  of  human  intercourse  itself,  he  resolved  to 
make  the  country,  possessed  by  these  incorrigible  criminals, 
a  memorable  example  to  mankind.  He  determined,  in  the 
gloomy  recesses  of  a  mind,  capacious  of  such  things,  to  leave 
the  whole  Carnatic  an  everlasting  monument  of  vengeance, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  479 

and  to  put  perpetual  desolation  as  a  barrier  between  him 
and  those,  against  whom  the  faith  which  holds  the  moral 
elements  of  the  world  together,  was  no  protection. 

He  became,  at  length,  so  confident  of  his  force,  and  so 
collected  in  his  might,  that  he  made  no  secret  whatever  of 
his  dreadful  resolution.  Having  terminated  his  disputes 
with  every  enemy,  he  drew  from  every  quarter  whatever  a 
savage  ferocity  could  add  to  his  new  rudiments  in  the  arts 
of  destruction.  Compounding  all  the  materials  of  fury, 
havoc,  and  desolation  into  one  black  cloud,  he  hung  for  a 
while  on  the  declivities  of  the  mountains.  While  the 
authors  of  all  these  evils  were  idly  and  stupidly  gazing  on 
this  menacing  meteor,  which  blackened  all  the  horizon,  it 
suddenly  burst,  and  poured  down  the  whole  of  its  contents 
upon  the  plains  of  the  Carnatic. 

Then  ensued  a  scene  of  woe,  the  like  of  which  no  eye 
had  seen,  no  heart  conceived,  and  which  no  tongue  can 
adequately  tell.  All  the  horrors  of  war  before  known  or 
heard  of,  were  mercy  to  that  new  havoc.  A  storm  of  uni- 
versal fire  blasted  every  field,  consumed  every  house,  and 
destroyed  every  temple.  The  miserable  inhabitants,  flying 
from  their  flaming  villages,  in  part  were  slaughtered. 

Others,  without  regard  to  sex,  to  age,  to  rank ;  fathers 
torn  from  children,  husbands  from  wives,  enveloped  in  a 
whirlwind  of  cavalry,  and  amid  the  goading  spears  of 
drivers,  and  the  tramping  of  pursuing  horses,  were  swept 
into  captivity,  in  an  unknown  and  hostile  land.  Those 
who  were  able  to  evade  this  tempest,  fled  to  the  walled 
cities.  But  escaping  from  fire,  sword,  and  exile,  they  fell 
into  the  jaws  of  famine. 

For  eighteen  months,  without  intermission,  this  destruc- 
tion raged  from  the  gates  of  Madras  to  the  gates  of  Tan- 
jore.  So  completely  did  these  masters  in  their  art,  Hyder 
Ali,  and  his  son,  absolve  themselves  of  their  impious  vow, 
that  when  the  British  armies  traversed  the  Carnatic,  hun- 
dreds of  miles  in  all  directions,  they  did  not  see  one  man, 
not  one  woman,  not  one  child,  not  one  four  footed  beast  of 
any  description  whatever.  One  dead,  uniform  silence  reigned 
over  the  whole  region.  FROM  BURKE. 


480  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCLXXXIL— SPEECH  ON  STANDING  ARMIES. 

WE  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  parliamentary  armies, 
and  about  an  army  continued  from  year  to  year.  I  have 
always  been,  and  always  shall  be,  against  a  standing  army 
of  any  kind.  To  me  it  is  a  terrible  thing,  whether  under 
that  of  parliamentary,  or  any  other  designation.  A  stand- 
ing army  is  a  body  of  men,  distinct  from  the  body  of  the 
people.  They  are  governed  by  different  laws.  Blind  obe- 
dience and  an  entire  submission  to  the  orders  of  their  com- 
manding officer  is  their  only  principle. 

The  nations  around  us  are  already  enslaved,  and  have 
been  enslaved  by  those  very  means.  By  means  of  their 
standing  armies  they  have,  every  one,  lost  their  liberties. 
It  is  indeed  impossible  that  the  liberties  of  the  people  can 
be  preserved  in  any  country,  where  a  numerous  standing 
army  is  kept  up.  Shall  we  then  take  any  of  our  measures 
from  the  examples  of  our  neighbors?  On  the  contraryj 
from  their  misfortunes  we  ought  to  learn  to  avoid  those 
rocks  on  which  they  have  split. 

It  signifies  nothing  to  tell  me,  that  our  army  is  com- 
manded by  such  gentlemen  as  can  not  be  supposed  to  join 
in  any  measures  for  enslaving  their  country.  It  may  be  so. 
I  hope  it  is  so.  I  have  a  very  good  opinion  of  many  gen- 
tlemen now  in  the  army.  I  believe  they  would  not  join  in 
any  such  measures.  But  their  lives  are  uncertain  ;  nor  can 
we  be  sure  how  long  they  may  be  continued  in  command. 
They  may  be  all  dismissed  in  a  moment,  and  proper  tools 
of  power  put  in  their  room. 

Besides,  we  know  the  passions  of  men.  We  know  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  trust  the  best  of  men  with  too  much 
power.  Where  was  there  ever  a  braver  army  than  that  un- 
der Julius  Caesar?  Where  was  there  ever  an  army  that  had 
served  their  country  more  faithfully?  That  army  was  com- 
manded generally  by  the  best  citizens  of  Rome,  by  men  of 
great  fortune  and  figure  in  their  country.  Yet  that  army 
enslaved  their  country. 

The  affections  of  the  soldiers  toward  their  country,  the 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  481 

honor  and  integrity  of  the  under-officers,  are  not  to  be 
depended  on.  By  the  military  law,  the  administration  of 
justice  is  so  quick,  and  the  punishment  so  severe,  that 
neither  officer  nor  soldier  dares  offer  to  dispute  the  orders 
of  his  supreme  commander.  He  must  not  consult  his  own 
inclinations.  If  an  officer  were  commanded  to  pull  his  own 
father  out  of  this  House,  he  must  do  it.  He  dares  not  dis- 
obey. Immediate  death  would  be  the  sure  consequence  of 
the  least  grumbling. 

If  an  officer  were  sent  into  the  Court  of  Requests,  accom- 
panied by  a  body  of  musketeers  with  screwed  bayonets, 
and  with  orders  to  tell  us  what  we  ought  to  do,  and  how 
we  were  to  vote — I  know  what  would  be  the  duty  of  this 
House — I  know  it  would  be  our  duty  to  order  the  officer 
to  be  taken  and  hanged  up  at  the  door  of  the  lobby.  But, 
I  doubt  much  if  such  a  spirit  could  be  found  in  this 
House,  or  in  any  House  of  Commons  that  will  ever  be  in 
England. 

I  talk  not  of  imaginary  things.  I  talk  of  what  has  hap- 
pened to  an  English  House  of  Commons,  and  from  an 
English  army;  not  only  from  an  English  army,  but  from 
an  army  that  was  raised  by  that  very  House  of  Commons, 
an  army  that  was  paid  by  them,  and  an  army  that  was  com- 
manded by  generals  appointed  by  them. 

Therefore,  do  not  let  us  vainly  imagine,  that  an  army 
raised  and  maintained  by  authority  of  parliament  will 
always  be  submissive  to  them.  If  an  army  be  so  numerous 
as  to  have  it  in  their  power  to  overawe  the  parliament, 
they  will  be  submissive,  as  long  as  the  parliament  does 
nothing  to  disoblige  their  favorite  general.  But,  when  that 
case  happens,  I  am  afraid,  that,  instead  of  the  parliament's 
dismissing  the  army,  the  army  will  dismiss  the  parliament. 

FROM  PULTNEY. 


NEW  EC.  S.— 41 


482  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCLXXXIIL—  THE  SPIRIT  OF  PEACE. 

WAR  will  yet  cease  from  the  earth ;  for  God  Himself 
has  said  it  shall.  An  infidel  might  doubt  this ;  but  a 
Christian  can  not.  If  God  has  taught  any  thing  in  the 
Bible,  he  has  taught  peace.  If  He  has  promised  any  thing 
there,  He  has  promised  peace,  ultimate  peace,  to  the  whole 
world.  Unless  the  night  of  a  godless  skepticism  should 
settle  on  my  soul,  I  must  believe  on,  and  hope  on,  and 
work  on,  until  the  nations,  from  'pole  to  pole,  shall  beat 
their  swords  into  plowshares,  their  spears  into  pruning- 
hooks,  and  learn  war  no  more. 

I  see  the  dawn  of  that  coming  day.  I  see  it  in  the  new 
and  better  spirit  of  the  age.  I  see  it  in  the  press,  the 
pulpit,  and  the  school.  I  see  it  in  every  factory,  and 
steamship,  and  rail-car.  I  see  it  in  every  enterprise  of 
Christian  benevolence  and  reform.  I  see  it  in  all  the 
means  of  general  improvement,  in  all  the  good  influences 
of  the  age,  now  at  work  over  the  whole  earth.  Yes;  there 
is  a  spirit  abroad  that  can  never  rest  until  the  war-demon  is 
hunted  from  the  habitations  of  men. 

This  spirit  is  pushing  "its  enterprises  and  improvement!? 
in  every  direction.  It  is  unfurling  the  white  flag  of  com- 
merce on  every  sea,  and  bartering  its  commodities  in  every 
port.  It  is  laying  every  power  of  nature,  as  well  as  the 
utmost  resources  of  human  ingenuity,  under  the  largest 
contributions  possible,  for  the  general  welfare  of  mankind. 
It  hunts  out  from  your  cities'  darkest  alleys  the  outcasts  ots 
poverty  and  crime,  for  relief  and  reform.  Nay,  it  goes 
down  into  the  barred  and  bolted  dungeons  of  penal  ven- 
geance, and  brings  up  its  callous,  haggard  victims,  into  the 
sunlight  of  a  love  that  pities  even  while  it  smites. 

This  spirit  is  everywhere  rearing  hospitals  for  the  sick, 
retreats  for  the  insane,  and  schools  that  all  but  teach  the 
dumb  to  speak,  the  deaf  to  hear,  and  the  blind  to  see.  It 
harnesses  the  fire-horse  in  his  iron  gear,  and  sends  him 
panting,  with  hot  but  unwearied  breath,  across  empires,  and 
continents,  and  seas.  It  catches  the  very  lightning  of 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  483 

heaven,  and  makes  it  bear  messages,  swift3  almost  as 
thought,  from  city  to  city,  from  country  to  country,  round 
the  globe. 

The  spirit  that  subsidizes  all  these  to  the  godlike  work 
of  a  world's  salvation,  and  employs  them  to  scatter  the 
blessed  truths  of  the  gospel,  thick  as  leaves  of  autumn,  or 
dew-drops  of  morning,  all  over  the  earth ;  the  spirit  that  is 
thus  weaving  the  sympathies  and  interests  of  our  whole 
race  into  the  web  of  one  vast  fraternity,  and  stamping  upon 
it,  in  characters  bright  as  sunbeams,  those  simple  yet  glori- 
ous truths,  the  fatherhood  of  God,  and  the  brotherhood  of 
man; — is  it  possible  for  such  a  spirit  to  rest,  until  it  shall 
have  swept  war  from  the  earth  forever? 


CCLXXX1V.— OUR  REPUBLIC  AN  EXPERIMENT. 

WE  are  summoned  to  new  energy  and  zeal  by  the  high 
nature  of  the  experiment  we  are  appointed  in  Providence 
to  make,  and  the  grandeur  of  the  theater  on  which  it  is  to 
be  performed.  At  a  moment  of  deep  and  general  agitation 
in  the  old  world,  it  pleased  Heaven  to  open  this  new  conti- 
nent, as  a  last  refuge  of  humanity.  The  attempt  has  begun, 
and  is  going  on,  far  from  foreign  corruption,  on  the  broad- 
est scale,  and  under  the  most  benignant  prospects ;  and  it 
certainly  rests  with  us  to  solve  the  great  problem  in  human 
society ;  to  settle,  and  that  forever,  the  momentous  question, 
whether  mankind  can  be  trusted  with  a  purely  popular  sys- 
tem of  government? 

One  might  almost  think,  without  extravagance,  that  the 
departed  wise  and  good,  of  all  places  and  times,  are  looking 
down  from  their  happy  seats  to  witness  what  shall  now  be 
done  by  us ;  that  they  who  lavished  their  treasures  and 
their  blood,  of  old,  who  spake  and  wrote,  who  labored, 
fought,  and  perished,  in  the  one  great  cause  of  freedom 
and  truth,  are  now  hanging,  from  their  orbs  on  high,  over 
the  last  solemn  experiment  of  humanity.  As  I  have  wan- 
dered over  the  spots  once  the  scene  of  their  labors,  and 
mused  among  the  prostrate  columns  of  their  senate-houses 


484  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 

and  forums,  I  have  seemed  almost  to  hear  a  voice  from  the 
tombs  of  departed  ages,  from  the  sepulchers  of  the  nations 
which  died  before  the  sight. 

They  exhort  us,  they  adjure  us,  to  be  faithful  to  our 
trust.  They  implore  us,  by  the  long  trials  of  struggling 
humanity ;  by  the  blessed  memory  of  the  departed ;  by  the 
dear  faith  which  has  been  plighted  by  pure  hands  to  the 
holy  cause  of  truth  and  man;  by  the  awful  secrets  of  the 
prison-house,  where  the  sons  of  freedom  have  been  im- 
mured ;  by  the  noble  heads  which  have  been  brought  to  the 
block ;  by  the  wrecks  of  time,  by  the  eloquent  ruins  of  na- 
tions ;  they  conjure  us  not  to  quench  the  light  which  is 
rising  on  the  world.  Greece  cries  to  us  by  the  convulsed 
lips  of  her  poisoned,  dying  Demosthenes;  and  Rome  pleads 
with  us  in  the  mute  persuasion  of  her  mangled  Tully. 

FROM  EVERETT. 


CCLXXXV.—L' ALLEGRO. 

L' ALLEGRO;  cheerfulness.     YCLEPED;  (pro.  e-clept"),  named. 
REBEC;  a  violin  with  three  strings. 

HENCE,  loath-ed  Melancholy, 
Find  out  some  uncouth  cell, 

Where  brooding  darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings, 
And  the  night-raven  sings; 

There  under  ebon  shades,  and  low-browed  rocks, 
As  ragged  as  thy  locks, 
In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 

But  come,  thou  Goddess  fair  and  free, 
In  Heaven  ycleped  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth. 
Haste  thee,  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreath-ed  smiles, 
Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe, 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  485 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee, 
The  mountain-nymph,  sweet  Liberty. 

And,  if  I  give  thee  honor  due, 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 
To  live  with  her  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreprov-ed  pleasures  free: 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight, 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  night, 
From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise; 
Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow, 
Through  the  sweetbrier,  or  the  vine, 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine. 

Or  listen  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 
While  the  plowman,  near  at  hand, 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
And  the  milk-maid  singeth  blithe. 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures, 
While  the  landscape  round,  it  measures, 
Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray, 
Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray; 
Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  laboring  clouds  do  often  rest; 
Meadows  trim  with  daisies  pied; 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide. 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies, 
The  cynosure  of  neighb'ring  eyes. 

Sometimes,  with  secure  delight, 
The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 
Where  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebecs  sound 
To  many  a  youth,  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  checkered  shade; 


486  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER, 

And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  sunshine  holiday. 

And  ever  against  eating  cares 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs, 
Married  to  immortal  verse, 
Such  as  the  melting  soul  may  pierce, 
*  In  notes  with  many  a  winding  bout 

Of  link-ed  sweetness  long  drawn  out, 
With  wanton  heed,  and  giddy  cunning, 
The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony. 
These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 

FROM  MILTON. 


CCLXXXVI.— IL  PENSEROSO. 

IL  PENSEROSO  ;  melancholy.     STOLE  ;  a  kind  of  scarf. 
DIGHT;  adorned.     THE  BEAR;  a  constellation. 

HENCE,  vain  deluding  joys, 
The  brood  of  Folly,  without  father  bred! 
How  little  you  bestead, 

Or  fill  the  fix-ed  mind  with  all  your  toys! 
But  hail,  thou  Goddess,  sage  and  holy! 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy ! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright, 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view, 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  wisdom's  hue. 

Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure, 
Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain 
Flowing  with  majestic  train, 
And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn, 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn. 
Come,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state, 
With  even  step  and  musing  gait, 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  487 

Join  with  thee  calm  Peace,  and  Quiet, 
Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet. 
But  first  and  chiefest  with  thee  bring 
Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 
Guiding  the  fiery-wheel-ed  throne, 
The  cherub  Contemplation. 

Oft  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground 

I'd  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound, 

Over  some  wide-watered  shore, 

Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar. 

Or  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 

Some  still,  remov-ed  place  will  fit, 

Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 

Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom; 

Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 

Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 

Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm, 

To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 

Or  let  my  lamp  at  midnight  hour 
Be  seen  on  some  high  lonely  tower, 
Where  I  may  oft  outwatch  the  Bear, 
With  thrice  great  Hermes,  or  unsphere 
The  spirit  of  Plato,  to  unfold 
What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
Th'  immortal  mind,  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshy  nook. 

Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career, 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear, 
Kerchiefed  in  a  comely  cloud, 
While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 
Or  ushered  with  a  shower  still, 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 
Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves, 
With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves. 

And  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 
His  flaring  beams,  me,  goddess,  bring 
To  arch-ed  walks  of  twilight  groves, 
And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 
Of  pine  or  monumental  oak, 
Where  the  rude  ax,  with  heav-ed  stroke, 


488  MCGUPFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Was  never  heard  the  Nymphs  to  daunt, 
Or  fright  them  from  their  hallowed  haunt 

There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook, 
Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 
Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye, 
While  the  bee  with  honeyed  thigh, 
That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 
And  the  waters  murmuring, 
With  such  concert  as  they  keep, 
Entice  the  dewy-feathered  Sleep : 
And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe, 
Above,  about,  or  underneath. 
Sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good, 
Or  th7  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail, 

To  walk  the  studious  cloister  pale, 

And  love  the  high  embow-ed  roof. 

With  antique  pillars  massy  proof, 

And  storied  windows  richly  dight, 

Casting  a  dim  religious  light: 

There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow, 

To  the  full-voiced  choir  below, 

In  service  high,  and  anthems  clear, 

As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 

Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 

And  bring  all  heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

These  pleasures,  Melancholy,  give, 

And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 

FROM  MILTON. 


CCLXXXVII.— ADDRESS  TO  THE  SUN. 

O  THOU  that  rollest  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my 
fathers!  Whence  are  thy  beams,  O  sun!  thy  everlasting 
light?  Thou  comest  forth,  in  thy  awful  beauty,  and  the 
stars  hide  themselves  in  the  sky ;  the  moon,  cold  and  pale, 
sinks  in  the  western  wave.  But  thou  thyself  movest  alone. 
Who  can  be  a  companion  of  thy  course? 

The  oaks  of  the  mountains  fall.  The  mountains  them- 
selves decay  with  years.  The  ocean  shrinks  and  grows 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  489 

again.  The  moon  herself  is  lost  in  heaven;  but  thou  art 
forever  the  same,  rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of  thy  course. 
When  the  world  is  dark  with  tempests;  when  thunder  rolls, 
and  lightning  flies;  thou  lookest  in  thy  beauty,  from  the 
clouds,  and  laughest  at  the  storm. 

But  to  Ossian,  thtfu  lookest  in  vain ;  for  he  beholds  thy 
beams  no  more ;  whether  thy  yellow  hair  flows  on  the  east- 
ern clouds,  or  thou  tremblest  at  the  gates  of  the  west.  But 
thou  art,  perhaps,  like  me,  for  a  season,  and  thy  years  will 
have  an  end.  Thou  shalt  sleep  in  thy  clouds,  careless  of 
the  voice  of  the  morning.  Exult  then,  O  sun,  in  the 
strength  of  thy  youth ! 

Age  is  dark  and  unlovely.  It  is  like  the  glimmering 
light  of  the  moon,  when  it  shines  through  broken  clouds, 
and  the  mist  is  on  the  hills.  The  blast  of  the  north  is  on 
the  plain,  the  traveler  shrinks  in  the  midst  of  his  journey. 

FROM  OSSIAN. 


CCLXXXVIIL— THE  NIGHTS. 

O  THE  Summer  Night,  has  a  smile  of  light, 

And  she  sits  on  a  sapphire  throne; 
While  the  sweet  winds  load  her,  with  garlands  of  odor, 

From  the  bud  to  the  rose  o'erblown! 

But  the  Autumn  Night  has  a  piercing  sight, 

And  a  step  both  strong  and  free ; 
And  a  voice  for  wonder,  like  the  wrath  of  the  thunder, 

When  he  shouts  to  the  stormy  sea! 

And  the  Winter  Night  is  all  cold  and  white, 

And  she  singeth  a  song  of  pain ; 
Till  the  wild  bee  hummeth,  and  the  warm  spring  cometh, 

Then  she  dies  in  a  night  of  rain. 

Night  bringeth  sleep  to  the  forests  deep, 

The  forest  bird  to  its  nest ; 
To  care,  bright  hours,  and  dreams  of  flowers, 

And  that  balm  to  the  weary, — Rest. 

FROM  PROCTER. 


490  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCLXXXIX.— NIGHT. 

NIGHT  is  the  time  for  rest; 

How  sweet,  when  labors  close, 
To  gather  round  an  aching  breast 

The  curtain  of  repose ! 
Stretch  the  tired  limbs  and  lay  the  head 
Upon  our  own  delightful  bed! 

Night  is  the  time  for  dreams, 

The  gay  romance  of  life ; 
When  truth  that  is,  and  truth  that  seems, 

Blend  in  fantastic  strife; 
Ah!  visions  less  beguiling  far, 
Than  waking  dreams  by  daylight  are ! 

Night  is  the  time  for  toil ; 

To  plow  the  classic  field, 
Intent  to  find  the  buried  spoil 

Its  wealthy  furrows  yield; 
Till  all  is  ours  that  sages  taught, 
That  poets  sang,  or  heroes  wrought. 

Night  is  the  time  to  weep; 

To  wet  with  unseen  tears 
Those  graves  of  memory,  where  sleep 

The  joys  of  other  years ; 
Hopes  that  were  angels  in  their  birth, 
But  perished  young,  like  things  of  earth. 

Night  is  the  time  to  pray; 

Our  Savior  oft  withdrew 
To  desert  mountains  far  away; 

So  will  his  followers  do; 
Steal  from  the  throng  to  haunts  untrod, 
And  hold  communion  there  with  God. 

Night  is  the  time  for  death; 

When  all  around  is  peace, 
Calmly  to  yield  the  weary  breath, 

From  sin  and  suffering  cease; 
Think  of  Heaven's  bliss,  and  give  the  sign 
To  parting  friends : — such  death  be  mine  ! 
FROM  MONTGOMERY. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  491 


CCXC.— APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  OCEAN. 

0  THOU  vast  Ocean!  ever  sounding  sea! 
Thou  symbol  of  a  drear  immensity  ! 

Thy  voice  is  like  the  thunder,  and  thy  sleep 

Is  as  a  giant's  slumber,  loud  and  deep. 

Thou  speakest  in  the  east  and  in  the  west 

At  once,  and  on  thy  heavily  laden  breast 

Fleets  come  and  go,  and  shapes  that  have  no  life 

Or  motion,  yet  are  moved  and  met  in  strife. 

The  earth  hath  naught  of  this.     No  chance  nor  change 

Ruffles  its  surface,  and  no  spirits  dare 

Gite  answer  to  the  tempest-waken  air; 

But  o'er  its  wastes  the  weakly  tenants  range 

At  will,  and  wound  its  bosom  as  they  go. 

Ever  the  same,  it  hath  no  ebb,  no  flow; 

But  in  their  stated  rounds  the  seasons  come, 

And  pass  like  visions  to  their  viewless  home, 

And  come  again,  and  vanish.     The  young  Spring 

Looks  ever  bright  with  leaves  and  blossoming; 

And  Winter  always  winds  his  sullen  horn, 

When  the  wild  Autumn,  with  a  look  forlorn, 

Dies  in  his  strong  manhood ;  and  the  skies 

Weep,  and  flowers  sicken,  when  the  Summer  flies. 

Thou  only,  terrible  Ocean,  hast  a  power, 

A  will,  a  voice,  and  in  thy  wrathful  hour, 

When  thou  dost  lift  thine  anger  to  the  clouds, 

A  fearful  and  magnificent  beauty  shrouds 

Thy  broad  green  forehead.     If  thy  waves  be  driven 

Backward  and  forward  by  the  shifting  wind, 

How  quickly  dost  thou  thy  great  strength  unbind, 

And  stretch  thine  arms,  and  war  at  once  with  Heaven. 

O,  wonderful  thou  art,  great  element, 
And  fearful  in  thy  spleeny  humors  bent, 
And  lovely  in  repose.     Thy  summer  form 
Is  beautiful,  and  when  thy  silver  waves 
Make  music  in  earth's  dark  and  winding  caves, 

1  love  to  wander  on  thy  pebbled  beach, 
Marking  the  sunlight  at  the  evening  hour, 
And  hearken  to  the  thoughts  thy  waters  teach: 
11  Eternity,  Eternity,  and  Power." 

FROM  PROCTOR. 


492  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXCL—  THE  CORAL  GROVE. 

DEEP  in  the  wave  is  a  coral  grove, 

Where  the  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove, 

Where  the  sea-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue, 

That  never  are  wet  with  falling  dew, 

But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine, 

Far  down  in  the  green  and  glassy  brine. 

The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain-drift, 

And  the  pearl-shells  spangle  the  flinty  snow; 
From  coral  rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 

Their  boughs  where  the  tides  and  billows  flow; 
The  water  is  calm  and  still  below, 

For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there, 
And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that  glow 

In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air; 
There,  with  its  waving  blade  of  green, 

The  sea-flag  streams  through  the  silent  water, 
And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 

To  blush  like  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter. 

There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 

The  fan-coral  sweeps  through  the  clear,  deep  sea, 
And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 

Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea; 
And  life,  in  rare  and  beautiful  forms, 

Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone, 
And  is  safe,  when  the  wrathful  spirit  of  storms 

Has  made  the  top  of  the  waves  his  own. 

And  when  the  ship  from  his  fury  flies, 

When  the  myriad  voices  of  ocean  roar, 
When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the  murky  skies, 

And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore: 
Then,  far  below,  in  the  peaceful  sea, 

The  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove, 
Where  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly, 

Through  the  bending  twigs  of  the  coral  grove. 

FROM  PERCIVAL. 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  493 


CCXCIL—  THE  MILLER. 

CHARACTERS. — The  King,  the  Miller,  and  a  courtier. 

King.  (Enters  alone,  wrapped  in  a  cloak.)  No,  no!  this 
can  be  no  public  road,  that's  certain.  I  have  lost  my  way, 
undoubtedly.  Of  what  advantage  is  it  now  to  be  a  king*? 
Night  shows  me  no  respect;  I  can  not  see  better  than  an- 
other man,  nor  walk  so  well.  When  a  king  is  lost  in  a  wood, 
what  is  he  more  than  other  men?  His  wisdom  knows  not 
which  is  north  and  which  is  south.  His  power  a  beggar's 
dog  would  bark  at,  and  the  beggar  himself  would  not  bow 
to  his  greatness.  And  yet  how  often  are  we  puffed  up 
with  these  false  attributes !  Well,  in  losing  the  monarch, 
I  have  found  the  man.  But,  hark!  somebody  sure  is  near. 
What  is  it  best  to  do?  Will  my  majesty  protect  me?  No. 
Throw  majesty  aside  then,  and  let  manhood  do  it. 
(Enter  the  Miller.) 

Miller.     I  believe  I  hear  the  rogue.     Who's  there? 

King.       No  rogue,  I  assure  you. 

Miller.  Little  better,  friend,  I  believe.  Who  fired  that 
gun? 

King.       Not  /,  indeed. 

Miller.     You  lie,  I  believe. 

King.  (Aside.)  Lie,  lie  !  how  strange  it  seems  to  me  to 
be  talked  to  in  this  style.  (Aloud.)  Upon  my  word  I 
don't,  sir. 

Miller.  Come,  come,  sir,  confess.  You  have  shot  one 
of  the  king's  deer,  haven't  you? 

King.  No,  indeed.  I  owe  the  king  more  respect.  I 
heard  the  report  of  a  gun,  to  be  sure,  and  was  afraid  some 
robbers  might  have  been  near. 

Miller.  I  am  not  bound  to  believe  this,  friend.  Pray, 
who  are  you?  What's  your  name? 

King.        Name  ? 

Miller.  Name!  ay,  name.  You  have  a  name,  haven't 
you?  Where  do  you  come  from?  What  is  your  business 
here? 

King.  These  are  questions  I  have  not  been  used  to, 
honest  man. 


494  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 

Miller.  May  be  so.  But  they  are  questions  no  honest 
man  would  be  afraid  to  answer.  So  if  you  can  give  no 
better  account  of  yourself,  I  shall  make  bold  to  take  you 
along  with  me,  if  you  please. 

King.  With  you !  What  authority  have  you  to — 
*  Miller.  The  king's  authority,  if  I  must  give  you  an 
account.  Sir,  I  am  John  Cockle,  the  miller  of  Mansfield, 
one  of  his  majesty's  keepers  in  the  forest  of  Sherwood, 
and  I  will  let  no  suspicious  fellow  pass  this  way,  unless  he 
can  give  a  better  account  of  himself  than  you  have  done, 
I  promise  you. 

King.  Very  well,  sir.  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  the 
king  has  so  good  an  officer;  and,  since  I  find  you  have 
his  authority,  I  will  give  you  a  better  account  of  myself, 
if  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  hear  it. 

Miller.  You  don't  deserve  it,  I  believe.  But  let  me 
hear  what  you  can  say  for  yourself. 

King.  I  have  the  honor  to  belong  to  the  king  as  well 
as  you,  and  perhaps  should  be  as  unwilling  to  see  any 
wrong  done  him.  I  came  down  with  him  to  hunt  in  this 
forest,  and  the  chase  leading  us  to-day  a  great  way  from 
home,  I  am  benighted  in  this  wood,  and  have  lost  my 
way. 

Miller.  This  does  not  sound  well.  If  you  have  been 
a  hunting,  pray  where  is  your  horse? 

King.  I  have  tired  my  horse  so  that  he  lay  down  under 
me,  and  I  was  obliged  to  leave  him. 

Miller.     If  I  thought  I  might  believe  this,  now. 

King.        I  am  not  accustomed  to  lie,  honest  man. 

Miller.  What,  do  you  live  at  court,  and  not  lie?  That's 
a  likely  story,  indeed! 

King.  Be  that  as  it  will,  I  speak  truth  now,  I  assure 
you;  and  to  convince  you  of  it,  if  you  will  attend  me  to 
Nottingham,  or  give  me  a  night's  lodging  in  your  house, 
here  is  something  to  pay  you  for  your  trouble,  (offering 
money}  and,  if  that  is  not  sufficient,  I  will  satisfy  you  in 
the  morning  to  your  utmost  desire. 

Miller.  Ay,  now  I  am  convinced  you  are  a  courtier. 
Here  is  a  little  bribe  for  to-day,  and  a  large  promise  for 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  495 

to-morrow,  both  in  a  breath.  Here,  take  it  again.  John 
Cockle  is  no  courtier.  He  can  do  what  he  ought  without 
a  bribe. 

King.  Thou  art  a  very  extraordinary  man,  I  must 
confess,  and  I  should  be  glad,  methinks,  to  be  further 
acquainted  with  thee. 

Miller.  I  pray  thee,  don't  tJiee  and  ihou  me,  at  this  rate. 
I  suppose  I  am  as  good  a  man  as  yourself,  at  least. 

King.        Sir,  I  beg  pardon. 

Miller.  Nay,  I  am  not  angry,  friend.  Only  I  don't 
love  to  be  too  familiar  with  you,  until  I  am  satisfied  as  to 
your  honesty. 

King.       You  are  right.     But  what  am  I  to  do  ? 

Miller.  You  may  do  what  you  please.  You  are  twelve 
miles  from  Nottingham,  and  all  the  way  through  this  thick 
wood.  But,  if  you  are  resolved  upon  going  thither  to-night, 
I  will  put  you  in  the  road  and  direct  you  the  best  I  can. 
Or,  if  you  will  accept  of  such  poor  entertainment  as  a 
miller  can  give,  you  shall  be  welcome  to  stay  all  night, 
and  in  the  morning  I  will  go  with  you  myself. 

King.       And  can  not  you  go  with  me  to-night? 

Miller.  I  would  not  go  with  you  to-night,  if  you  were 
the  king  himself. 

King.       Then  I  must  go  with  you,  I  think. 
(Enter  a  courtier  in  haste.) 

Courtier.  Ah!  is  your  majesty  safe?  We  have  hunted 
the  forest  over  to  find  you. 

Miller.  How!  Are  you  the  king?  (Kneels.)  Your  ma- 
jesty will  pardon  the  ill-usage  you  have  received.  (The 
Icing  draws  his  sword.)  His  majesty  surely  will  not  kill  a 
servant  for  doing  his  duty  too  faithfully ! 

King.  No,  my  good  fellow.  So  far  from  having  any 
thing  to  pardon,  I  am  much  your  debtor.  I  can  not  think 
but  so  good  and  honest  a  man  will  make  a  worthy  and 
honorable  knight.  Rise,  Sir  John  Cockle,  arid  receive  this 
sword  as  a  badge  of  knighthood,  and  a  pledge  of  my  pro- 
tection. And  to  support  your  nobility,  and  in  some  mea- 
sure requite  you  for  the  pleasure  you  have  done  us,  a 
thousand  crowns  a  year  shall  be  your  revenue ! 


496  MCGUFFEY'S   NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXCI1I.— ODE  ON  CECILIA'S  DAY. 

DIAPASON;  (pro.  di-a-pa'-son,)  the  whole  octave  in  music. 
JUBAL  ;  inventor  of  the  harp  and  organ.     (See  Bible.) 
OR-PHE-US  ;  an  ancient  Greek  bard. 
SE-QUA'-CIOUS  ;  attendant. 
CE-CII/-IA  ;  patron-saint  of  music. 

FROM  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 

This  universal  frame  began; 

From  harmony  to  harmony. 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran, 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  man. 

What  passion  can  not  music  raise  and  quell? 
When  Jubal  struck  the  corded  shell, 

His  listening  brethren  stood  around, 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 

To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 
Less  than  a  god  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 

Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell, 

That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 
What  passion  can  not  music  raise  and  quell? 

The  trumpets  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms, 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger, 

And  mortal  alarms. 
The  double,  double,  double  beat 

Of  the  thundering  drum, 

Cries,  "Hark!  the  foes  come; 
Charge,  charge!  'tis  too  late  to  retreat." 

The  soft  complaining  flute 

In  dying  notes  discovers 

The  woes  of  hapless  lovers, 
Whose  dirge  is  whispered  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  violins  proclaim 

Their  jealous  pangs,  and  desperation, 

Fury,  frantic  indignation, 
Depths  of  pain  and  hight  of  passion, 
For  the  fair  disdainful  dame. 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  497 

But,  O!  what  art  can  teach, 
What  human  voice  can  reach, 
The  sacred  organ 's  praise ! 

Notes  inspiring  holy  love, 
Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 

To  mend  the  choirs  above. 
Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race ; 
And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place, 

Sequacious  of  the  lyre; 

But  bright  Cecilia  raised  the  wonder  higher : 
When  to  her  organ  vocal  breath  was  given, 
An  angel  heard,  and  straight  appeared, 
Mistaking  earth  for  heaven. 

FROM  DRYDEN. 


CCXCIV.— DRUNKENNESS. 

THIS  is  an  extract  from  a  sermon  by  Jeremy  Taylor,  a  distin- 
guished divine  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He  is  often  called  the 
Shakspeare  of  divinity.  The  quaintness  of  the  language  observable, 
belongs  to  that  period,  and  rather  increases  than  diminishes  the 
terseness  and  eloquence  of  his  writing. 

EVERY  drunkard  clothes  his  head  with  a  mighty  scorn; 
and  makes  himself  lower  than  the  meanest  of  his  servants. 
The  boys  can  laugh  at  him,  when  he  is  led  like  a  cripple, 
directed  like  a  blind  man,  and  speaks  like  an  infant,  lisp- 
ing with  a  full  and  spongy  tongue,  and  empty  head,  and  a 
vain  and  foolish  heart.  So  cheaply  doth  he  part  with  his 
honor  for  drink;  for  which  honor  he  is  ready  to  die, 
rather  than  bear  it  to  be  disparaged  by  another;  when  he 
himself  destroys  it,  as  bubbles  that  perish  with  the  bKeath 
of  children. 

And  is  there  any  thing  in  the  world  so  foolish  as  a  man 
that  is  drunk?  But,  what  an  intolerable  sorrow  hath 
seized  upon  great  portions  of  mankind,  that  this  folly  and 
madness  should  possess  the  greatest  spirits,  and  the  wit- 
tiest men,  the  best  company,  the  most  sensible  of  the  word 
NEW  EC.  S.— 42 


498  MCGUFFEY'S  NEW  SPEAKER. 

honor,  and  the  most  jealous  .of  the  shadow,  and  the  most 
careless  of  the  thing.! 

Is  it  not  a  horrid  thing,  that  a  wise,  a  learned,  or  a  no- 
ble person,  should  dishonor  himself  as  a  fool,  destroy  his 
body  as  a  murderer,  lessen  his  estate  as  a  prodigal,  disgrace 
every  good  cause  that  he  can  pretend  to,  and  become  an 
appellative  of  scorn,  a  scene  of  laughter  or  derision,  and 
all,  for  the  reward  of  forgetfulness  and  madness?  For 
there  are,  in  immoderate  drinking,  no  other  pleasures. 

Why  do  valiant  men  and  brave  personages  fight  and  die, 
rather  than  break  the  laws  of  men,  or  start  from  their 
duty  to  their  country  ?  Why  do  they  suffer  themselves  to 
be  cut  in  pieces  rather  than  deserve  the  name  of  a  traitor, 
or  perjured?  And  yet  these  very  men,  to  avoid  the  hated 
name  of  drunkard,  and  to  preserve  their  temperance,  will 
not  pour  a  cup  of  wine  on  the  ground,  when  they  are  in- 
vited to  drink  by  the  laws  of  the  circle  or  wilder  com- 
pany. 

Methinks  it  were  but  reason,  that,  if  to  give  life  to 
uphold  a  cause  be  not  too  much,  they  should  not  think  it 
too  much  to  suffer  thirst  for  the  reputation  of  that  cause ; 
and  therefore  much  rather  think  it  but  duty  to  be  tempe- 
rate for  its  honor,  that,  what  they  value  most,  be  not  de- 
stroyed by  drink.  FROM  JEREMY  TAYLOR. 


CCXCV.— THE  BOWL. 

Go,  feel  what  I  have  felt, 
Go,  bear  what  I  have  borne, 

Sink  'neath  the  blow  a  father  dealt, 
And  the  cold  world's  proud  scorn: 

Then  suffer  on  from  year  to  year, 

Thy  sole  relief  the  scorching  tear. 

Go,  kneel  as  I  have  knelt, 
Implore,  beseech,  and  pray; 

Strive  the  besotted  heart  to  melt, 
The  downward  course  to  stay; 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  490 

Be  dashed  with  bitter  curse  aside, 

Your  prayers  burlesqued,  your  tears  defied. 

Go,  weep  as  I  have  wept 

O'er  a  loved  father's  fall; 
See  every  promised  blessing  swept; 

Youth's  sweetness  turned  to  gall; 
Life's  fading  flowers  strewed  all  the  way, 
That  brought  ine  up  to  woman's  day. 

Go,  see  what  I  have  seen ; 

Behold  the  strange  man  bow, 
With  gnashing  teeth,  lips  bathed  in  blood, 

And  cold  and  livid  brow ; 
Go,  catch  his  writhing  glance,  and  see 
There  mirrored,  his  soul's  misery. 

Go  to  thy  mother's  side, 

And  her  crushed  bosom  cheer; 
Thine  own  deep  anguish  hide; 

Wipe  from  her  cheek  the  bitter  tear; 
Mark  her  worn  frame  and  withered  brow; 
The  gray  that  streaks  her  dark  hair  now; 
With  fading  frame  and  trembling  limb; 
And  trace  the  ruin  back  to  him 
Whose  plighted  faith,  in  early  youth, 
Promised  eternal  love  and  truth, 
But  who,  forsworn,  hath  yielded  up 
That  promise  to  the  curs-ed  cup; 
And  led  her  down,  through  love  and  light, 
And  all  that  made  her  prospects  bright; 
And  chained  her  there,  mid  want  and  strife, 
That  lowly  thing,  a  drunkard's  wife ; 
And  stamped  on  childhood's  brow  so  mild, 
That  withering  blight,  the  drunkard's  child ! 

Go,  hear,  and  feel,  and  sec,  and  know, 
All  that  my  soul  hath  felt  and  known; 

Then  look  upon  the  wine-cup's  glow, 
See  if  its  beauty  can  atone; 

Think  if  its  flavor  you  will  try ; 

When  all  proclaim  'tis  drink  and  die. 

Tell,  me  I  hate  the  bowl ! 
Hate  is  a  feeble  word : 


500  MOGUFFEY'S   NEW    SPEAKER, 

I  loathe,  abhor,  my  very  soul 

With  strong  disgust  is  stirred, 
Whene'er  I  see,  or  hear,  or  tell, 
Of  the  dark  beverage  of  hell. 


CCXCVL— THERE  IS  A  GOD. 

EVERY  thing  in  nature  proclaims  the  existence  of  a  God. 
It  is  written  upon  the  painted  pebble  and  the  variegated 
shell,  upon  every  blade  of  grass  and  every  leaf  of  the  for- 
est. It  is  written  upon  every  star  whose  glittering  sheen 
lights  up  the  blue  depths  of  the  illimitable  expanse,  and 
upon  every  grain  of  sand  that  rests  on  old  earth's  bosom. 

It  is  equally  proclaimed  by  the  rattling  thunder,  and 
by  that  "still  small  voice,"  the  volcano's  flash  and  the 
lightning's  glare,  by  the  cataract's  roar  and  the  gentle 
purling  of  the  brook,  by  the  rushing  whirlwind  and  the 
gentle  zephyr.  It  is  proclaimed  by  the  raging  storm,  pros- 
trating and  devastating  every  thing  before  it,  and  by  the 
gently  dropping  summer  shower,  bringing  joy  and  healing 
on  its  wings  ;  by  the  groaning  of  the  forest  and  the  rustling 
of  the  corn-fields ;  by  the  angry  tumult  of  the  ocean's 
giant  waves,  and  the  beautiful  rippling  of  "Leman's  placid 
lake." 

It  is  written  on  every  page  of  nature's  volume,  and 
proclaimed  by  every  voice  that  issues  from  her  laboratory. 
We  see  throughout  nature  an  evident  unity  of  purpose  and 
design,  a  beautiful  and  harmonious  system  of  laws,  so  ar- 
ranged, that  in  the  universe,  as  illimitable  as  God  himself, 
there  is  not  the  slightest  clash  or  confusion.  Millions  on 
millions  of  worlds  roll  on  in  their  orbits  throughout  space, 
continually  passing  and  repassing  each  other,  and  treading 
their  intricate  mazes  and  devious  labyrinths  without  ever 
mistaking  their  course,  or  interfering  with  each  other. 
United  to  this  is  a  nice  adaptation  of  means  to  the  end, 
and  which  point  to  their  author  as  God,  essential,  uncre- 


ECLECTIC    SERIES.  501 

ated,  eternal,  whom  to  deny  is  the  greatest  folly  of  which 
man  can  be  guilty,  and  whom  to  confess  and  adore  is  an 
act  of  his  highest  wisdom. 


CCXCVIL— MY  MOTHER'S  BIBLE. 

THIS  book  is  all  that's  left  me  now! 

Tears  will  unbidden  start; 
With  faltering  lip  and  throbbing  brow, 

I  press  it  to  my  heart. 
For  many  generations  past, 

Here  is  our  family  tree: 
My  mother's  hands  this  Bible  clasped; 

She,  dying,  gave  it  me. 

Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  those 

Whose  names  these  records  bear, 
Who  round  the  hearth-stone  used  to  close, 

After  the  evening  prayer; 
And  speak  of  what  these  pages  said, 

In  tones  my  heart  would  thrill! 
Though  they  are  with  the  silent  dead, 

Here  are  they  living  still. 

My  father  read  this  holy  book 

To  brothers,  sisters,  dear; 
How  calm  was  my  dear  mother's  look, 

Who  loved  God's  word  to  hear. 
Her  a-ged  face,  I  see  it  yet, 

As  thronging  memories  come! 
Again  that  little  group  is  met 

Within  the  halls  of  home ! 

Thou  truest  friend  man  ever  knew, 

Thy  constancy  I've  tried; 
When  all  were  false  I  found  thee  true, 

My  counselor  and  guide. 
The  mines  of  earth  no  treasure  give 

That  could  this  volume  buy: 
In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 

It  taught  me  how  to  die. 


502  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXCVIII— SURVIVORS  OF  BUNKER  HILL.— No.  I. 

THIS  and  the  succeeding  exercise  are  from  Webster's  speech  on 
laying  the  corner  stone  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument.  He  addresses  the 
survivors  present.  The  "great  first  martyr"  apostrophized  at  the 
close,  is  General  Warren,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  American 
patriots,  and  who  was  killed  in  the  battle. 

VENERABLE  men!  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a 
former  generation.  Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened 
out  your  lives,  that  you  might  behold  this  joyous  day.  You 
are  now  where  you  stood  fifty  years  ago,  this  very  hour, 
with  your  brothers  and  your  neighbors,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
in-  the  strife  of  your  country.  Behold,  how  altered!  The 
same  heavens  are  indeed  over  your  heads;  the  same  ocean 
rolls  at  your  feet;  but  all  else  how  changed! 

You  hear  now  no  roar  of  hostile  cannon,  you  see  no 
mixed  volumes  of  smoke  and  flame  rising  from  burning 
Charlestown.  The  ground  strowed  with  the  dead  and  the 
dying ;  the  impetuous  charge ;  the  steady  and  successful 
repulse;  the  loud  call  to  repeated  assault;  the  summoning 
of  all  that  is  manly  to  repeated  resistance ;  a  thousand 
bosoms  freely  and  fearlessly  bared  in  an  instant  to  whatever 
of  terror  there  may  be  in  war  and  death ;  all  these  you 
have  witnessed,  but  you  witness  them  no  more.  All  is 
peace. 

"^The  bights  of  yonder  metropolis,  its  towers  and  roofs, 
which  you  then  saw  filled  with  wives,  and  children,  and 
countrymen  in  distress  and  terror,  and  looking  with  unut- 
terable emotions  for  the  issue  of  the  combat,  have  presented 
you  to-day  with  the  sight  of  its  whole  happy  population, 
come  out  to  welcome  and  greet  you  with  a  universal  jubilee. 
Yonder  proud  ships,  by  a  felicity  of  position  appropriately 
lying  at  the  foot  of  this  mount,  and  seeming  fondly  to 
cling  around  it,  are  not  means  of  annoyance  to  you,  but 
your  country's  own  means  of  distinction  and  defense. 
"  All  is  peace ;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight  of 
your  country's  happiness,  ere  you  slumber  forever  in  the 
grave.  He  has  allowed  you  to  behold  and  to  partake  the 
reward  of  your  patriotic  toils ;  and  he  has  allowed  us,  your 


ECLECTIC   SERIES.  503 

/ 

sons  and  countrymen,  to  meet  you  here,  and  in  the  name 
of  the  present  generation,  in  the  name  of  your  country,  in 
the  name  of  liberty,  to  thank  you ! 

\J$ut,  alas!  you  are  not  all  here!  Time  and  the  sword 
have  thinned  your  ranks.  Prescott,  Putnam,  Stark,  Brooks, 
Read,  Pomeroy,  Bridge !  our  eyes  seek  for  you  in  vain  amid 
this  broken  band.  You  are  gathered  to  your  fathers,  and 
live  only  to  your  country  in  her  grateful  remembrance  and 
your  own  bright  example.  But  you  lived  to  see  your 
country's  independence  established,  and  to  sheathe  your 
swords  from  war.  On  the  light  of  liberty  you  saw  arise 
the  light  of  peace,  like 

''Another  morn  risen  on  mid-noon;" 

and  the  sky  on  which  you  closed  your  eyes  was  cloudless. 
But  ah  !  Thou !  the  first  great  martyr  in  this  great  cause  ! 
Thou !  the  premature  victim  of  thine  own  self-devoting 
heart!  Thou!  the  head  of  our  civil  councils,  and  the 
destined  leader  of  our  military  bands,  whom  nothing 
brought  hither  but  the  unquenchable  fire  of  thine  own 
spirit!  Thou!  cut  off  by  Providence  in  the  hour  of  over- 
whelming anxiety  and  thick  gloom ;  falling  ere  thou  sawest 
the  star  of  thy  country  rise ;  pouring  out  thy  generous 
blood  like  water,  before  thou  knewest  whether  it  would 
fertilize  a  land  of  freedom  or  of  bondage ! — how  shall  I 
struggle  with  the  emotions  that  stifle  the  utterance  of  thy 
name ! 

-v  Our  poor  work  may  perish ;  but  thine  shall  endure !  This 
monument  may  molder  away;  the  solid  ground  it  rests 
upon  may  sink  down  to-  a  level  with  the  sea;  but  thy 
memory  shall  nt)t  fail!  Wherever  among  men  a  heart 
shall  be  found  that  beats  to  the  transports  of  patriotism 
and  liberty,  its  aspirations  shall  be,  to  claim  kindred  with 
thy  spirit!  FKOM  WEBSTER. 


504  MCGUFFEY'S    NEW   SPEAKER. 


CCXCIX.— SURVIVORS  OF  BUNKER  HILL.— No.  II. 

VETERANS!  you  are  the  remnant  of  many  a  well-fought 
field.  You  bring  with  you  marks  of  honor  from  Trenton 
and  Monmouth,  from  Yorktown,  Camden,  Bennington,  and 
Saratoga.  Veterans  of  half  a  century!  when  in  your  youth- 
ful days  you  put  every  thing  at  hazard  in  your  country's 
cause,  good  as  that  cause  was,  and  sanguine  as  youth  is, 
still  your  fondest  hopes  did  not  stretch  onward  to  an  hour 
like  this. 

At  a  period  to  which  you  could  not  reasonably  have 
expected  to  arrive,  at  a  moment  of  national  prosperity  such 
as  you  could  never  have  foreseen,  you  are  now  met  here  to 
enjoy  the  fellowship  of  old  soldiers,  and  to  receive  the  over- 
flowings of  a  universal  gratitude. 

But  your  agitated  countenances  and  your  heaving  breasts 
inform  me  that  even  this  is  not  an  unmixed  joy.  I  per- 
ceive that  a  tumult  of  contending  feelings  rushes  upon  you. 
The  images  of  the  dead,  as  well  as  the  persons  of  the  living, 
throng  to  your  embraces.  The  scene  overwhelms  you,  and 
I  turn  from  it.  May  the  Father  of  all  mercies  smile  upon 
your  declining  years,  and  bless  them! 

And  when  you  shall  here  have  exchanged  your  embraces, 
when  you  shall  once  more  have  pressed  the  hands  which 
have  been  so  often  extended  to  give  succor  in  adversity,  or 
grasped  in  the  exultation  of  victory,  then  look  abroad  into 
this  lovely  land  which  your  young  valor  defended,  and 
mark  the  happiness  with  which  it  is  filled.  Yea,  look 
abroad  into  the  whole  earth,  and.  see  what  a  name  you  have 
contributed  to  give  to  your  country,  and  what  a  praise  you 
have  added  to  freedom,  and  then  rejoice  in  the  sympathy 
and  gratitude  which  beam  upon  your  last  days  from  the 
improved  condition  of  mankind!  FROM  WEBSTER. 


THE  END. 


n 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


.^ar'fcSARJ 

RECTO  LD 

MAY    51958 

UOA 

'•  -«A 

^IBttiBR^X. 

DEC  2  1197 

8 

REC.  CIR.    FEB  1  2   19 

9                                   i 

~ 

General  Library 
LD  21-50m-8,T>7                                  University  of  California 
(,C8481slO)476                                                   Berkeley 

